Stay With Me
by limerent object
Summary: Peeta has been looking out for Katniss for most of his life. Katniss has been trying to forget she owes him everything. When their paths are forced to cross again at West Virginia University, they both get a second chance to make things right. Very AU, but true to characters!
1. Chapter 1

A/N – Welcome to my AU Hunger Games fanfic! I haven't found a lot of HG completely AU stories out there, and I'm not sure why that is...hopefully you'll enjoy it and play along with me!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

PPOV

I'm sitting in the coffee shop across from Katniss Everdeen's apartment, waiting for her to come home from work. I've been watching her for the better part of 10 years now. If you were to ask her who I am, she'd tell you I'm just some guy from her hometown. But that would be the understatement of the century because while it's true, I am a guy from her hometown, I'm also someone who's been in love with her since I was 12 years old. I'm someone who's been making sure she's okay in whatever way I can for as long as I can remember.

I saw her for the first time at her father's funeral back in Oak Hill, West Virginia, where we grew up. There weren't too many soldiers out of Oak Hill back then so one that had been killed in the line of duty was even more rare. Her father was blown to bits by an IED right at the beginning of the Iraq War, so practically everyone in town went to the funeral. He was the only person I'd ever known who died and the fact that he had children so close to my own age made the whole situation resonate that much more with me.

I can still remember seeing Katniss at the front of the funeral home, holding onto her sister protectively, her head held high and strong while her mother sat catatonically in a corner completely unreachable. Even at 12 years old she was fierce and beautiful. It was the first time I ever really noticed a girl, the first time I wanted to be close to one, to know one, to touch one...and I've never really wanted another girl since. It's always been Katniss.

Of course, she wouldn't have noticed me then, not with what had just happened and with all the people surrounding her. It wasn't until we were in the eighth grade, both attending Collins Middle School, when she actually knew I existed. I'd been keeping tabs on her family as much as a boy of that age can - listening in on my parents' conversations and watching her and her sister from afar – so I knew how bad things had gotten after her father's death. There were a few of us in town who had money, but most, most never had enough and it was an obvious, ever-present divide. Her mother, who'd been an unofficial naturopath while her husband was still alive, was no longer fit to practice her brand of health care, so even the meagre money she'd brought in before wasn't there. They were able to collect some social assistance and insurance money, but they were still struggling to keep a roof over their heads and food in their stomachs.

I watched as she grew pale and thin. And then paler and thinner. My heart broke as the hollows under her eyes grew deeper and her shoulders rounded forward to support the concave dent in her abdomen. She became intensely withdrawn, speaking only to the one guy she was always with. The two of them would sneer at those of us who lived comfortable lives, practically baring their teeth if anyone with a brand name shirt tried to go near them. I saw it as self-protection though, a way to hold onto their pride in the face of their poverty. It seemed to make her feel better, to make us the enemy, so it was a role I was happy to play. Truthfully, at that age, I didn't know what else I could do anyways. When you're a 14-year-old boy and a girl doesn't like you, you just stay the hell away from her and hope to avoid embarrassing yourself.

My parents owned the only real bakery in town, which made us a decent living, but it was their expensive cakes that they sold for big events in nearby cities that ensured our solidly middle-class existence.

Without question or alternatives, it was assumed that all us boys would work for the family business, so as soon as I was old enough to lift a bag of flour, the bakery was where I spent most of my time outside of school.

I was working late one night, baking the loaves for the morning while my mom worked on a complicated cake. She was in an especially bitchy mood because of the deadline so I was trying to work extra fast to get the hell out of there. I ran outside to grab another bag of flour from our storage shed, my mom screaming after me for one thing or another, when I saw her. She was slumped against a building bordering the laneway across the street, elbows on her knees, hands in her hair. It was pouring rain, but I could still hear her sobbing. I didn't move, I just stood and watched as she stretched her legs out in front of her and clutched at her abdomen, pain twisting her usually composed face.

I knew I had to do something, but I also knew she would never take anything from me. Me of all people. I went back inside, took two of my best loaves and stuck them back in the oven, not long, but long enough to blacken the outside to the point of them not being worthy of sale. My mom lost her shit, naturally, her fists landing on me with a fury I hadn't experienced in years. When my mom finally stormed out in a fit of rage, yelling at me to throw the loaves in the compost, I opened the door and turned away from the green bin, tossing the loaves instead in Katniss' direction without looking at her. I turned and walked back into the shop without a word.

The change between us after that night was subtle, but definitely there. She no longer sneered or scowled in my direction and when she caught me looking at her, she just gave a slight nod and looked away. It was as much as I could hope for and I've clung to every glance, every chance encounter ever since.

And, whether out of guilt or business sense, my mom started asking me to decorate more than bake. I took to it right away choosing colour palettes and themes, adding more and more artistic detail, creating scenes in coloured icing and hardened sugar, surpassing even my mother's ability. It was the start of my love of all things art.

For whatever reason, that night seemed to be a turning point for Katniss, too. I noticed her cheeks fill out again and fill with colour. She started to laugh a little more freely and seemed to be relieved of some of the tension she'd been carrying. All after just two loaves of burnt bread.

In the 8 years since, I've continued to do whatever I have to do to make sure Katniss is alright. There haven't been any incidents as extreme as the one with the bread, but I've taken myself out of the running for numerous scholarships we've both been finalists for, given up residence spots at university and called employers, unbeknownst to her, as an extremely supportive (fake) reference any time she's looked for a part-time job. I've watched that she gets home safely late at night and kept an eye on her only friend, Gale, to make sure he's a stand up guy. I couldn't tell you exactly why I feel so protective of her or why I value her happiness over my own, only that I do. And instead of it being a feeling I've grown out of or gotten over, it just seems to get stronger, year after year it gets stronger.

I mean, yes, she is beautiful in her own way and nobody rocks curve-hugging clothing quite like Katniss, but it's more than that. She's principled, proud and strong without being selfish or frivolous. She's smart and driven, but still puts her family first and remains fiercely loyal to the one friend she's had for as long as I've known her. There's something...unnameable about her that just has this effect on you. It takes hold and before you know it, you've been secretly, ridiculously in love for a decade.

If she knew, I'm sure she'd be incredibly creeped out. It's weird enough of a thing that I've never told anyone, not a single person. I've often thought that her little sister might suspect, may have caught me staring more than once when Katniss wasn't paying attention, but she's never said anything. Some guys gather in dark basements to play D&D in secret, some girls read trashy novels they'd never tell their friends about. Me? I watch out for a beautiful girl who won't even look at me.

I see her now, walking quickly towards her building, pulling her scarf more tightly around her neck to brace herself against the cold. I want to run outside and give her every stitch of clothing off my back, but instead I sit and watch her fumble with her keys then let herself in. I down the last of my coffee while I watch for her apartment light to come on in the third basement window on the left. It does and I slowly pack up my books and laptop, say goodnight to the staff who I've come to know so well and make my own way home.

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><p>Thursday is my favourite day of the week because Katniss and I actually have a class together. She's taking a natural resources degree and I'm taking business, so there isn't a lot of overlap, but in the three years we've been going to West Virginia University we have ended up in the same elective classes a few times. This year it's an urban geography course and despite it's lame content, they're three of my most favourite hours each week.<p>

We sit nowhere near each other, as usual. Gale's not in this class and since Katniss doesn't really talk to anyone else she sits in the far back corner, as far away from other people as she can get while still sharing a room.

I've gotten to know quite a few people in the class just through everyday small talk, so I usually just sit with whoever I'm talking to as I enter the room. It's always helpful to have a distraction that forces my attention somewhere other than the far back corner of the class where I know she is.

Professor Trinket comes into the room, looking purposeful. We must be starting something new, I think. She clears her throat to get our attention and launches into a speech about moving on to a more practical section of the course, one that will encourage us to engage with our urban environment and marry the principles of geography with the reality of an organized community. And then she utters the best combination of words I can imagine, "I'm pairing you up with a classmate who will work with you on this big, big, big project for the rest of the semester."

My heart beats rapidly as she explains that she'll be drawing names to be fair and asks one of the students sitting closest to her to record the names of the pairs as they're drawn.

She starts picking names before I can even wrap my head around what's happening. Do I dare to hope that my name is chosen? That Katniss and I will actually talk to each other and spend time together? Do I want that? Is her being forced to acknowledge me, to talk to me the way I really want this to happen? Who am I kidding, I'm obviously never going to initiate an exchange and I need all the help I can get.

And then it happens. "Peeta Mellark." My head snaps up, my palms are sweating, and I swear when I swallow it's heard by every single person in the room. "And, Katniss Everdeen."

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><p>AN – I really hope you like it so far! Please review and let me know! I should be able to update again within 2 weeks, sooner if I can.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N – Thanks so much to those of you who read the first chapter and an especially huge thank you to the few who reviewed, I really appreciate the support. You reviewers (I'm looking at you, maryclumsy) have been the cheerleaders on my shoulders, pushing me to post before the full 2 weeks. So here you, go! Review some more, please!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 2<p>

KPOV

Not him, anyone but him. That damn boy with the bread who's always...there. I started to dread this happening as soon as Professor Trinket started talking about drawing names. I should have known I couldn't escape this semester without something like this coming up. Why didn't I just drop this stupid class when I saw he was in it in the first place?

I chance a glance at him, but can't see his face straight on, so I don't know if he's smiling, frowning, swearing or mentally high-fiving himself. I sigh and tune out the rest of the class, thinking instead about the time I'll get to spend outside this weekend, in the woods where I belong.

My mind starts to wander though, betraying me by thinking about that night. The horrible night in the rain. My mom was such a mess back then, like the walking dead. When she bothered to get out of bed at all. And Prim, she was so little and frail, so undeserving of such a shit life. We were wasting away and everything I was doing to keep us together and afloat was starting to fail us. I was wandering around, as desperate as I'd ever been, actually checking dumpsters for food. Anything to keep us going.

I only realized where I was when I heard his mother. Her rage was savage and cruel. He stumbled out the back door, one hand on his already swelling face, the other clutching two big loaves of bread. He didn't even look at me, but he must have known I was there because those loaves practically landed in my lap and nowhere near the bin.

I had barely even known him before that night, just knew he was one of those spoiled kids who wanted for nothing. Naturally, that meant I had engaged with him as little as possible. The fact that he, of all people, showed me kindness, saved my whole family in a way, pissed me off and humbled me all at once.

Instead of thanking him though, like I should have, I did nothing. Well, that's not entirely true. I stopped ignoring his existence or scoffing at him like I had before. I wouldn't say I started being nice to him, but I stopped actively being a bitch...for what that's worth.

It wasn't that he didn't deserve my thanks, because of course he did, it was that there was something so earnest about him. Something I couldn't quite put my finger on except to say that he was the first person that really muddled my understanding of the categories I'd always divided the world into. And something about that earnestness, that goodness, intimidated me. Made me question things about myself that maybe I wasn't ready to know.

So it's gone on this way between us, him smiling politely and me nodding in acknowledgement, for the last 8 years.

I don't think I was surprised when I realized we were going to the same university. I don't know why, but I just accepted his presence as the universe reminding me of how close I came to giving up. He's like this symbol of hope and shame and goodness and pride that comforts and overwhelms me all at once.

This though, this ridiculous assignment forcing us together like some cruel joke, is too much. Knowing he's close by is one thing, but working together is quite another.

I pull myself out of my head just as class is ending. I can see him making his way over to me and I know I won't be able to get my stuff together fast enough to get out the door before he reaches me.

"Hi," he says simply.

"Hey," I return, more coolly than I need to.

"So I guess...we're partners." His voice is friendly, his tone free of any of the attitude markers I never seem to fully shed.

"Apparently," I try to soften my tone, but I'm not sure I've succeeded. I shift my weight to hoist my backpack up onto one shoulder and look more than a little longingly at the door. I'm unprepared for this situation. Being this close to him is strange. Did I know he has blue eyes? I try smiling, but I'm afraid I just look crazy, so I go back to my usual blank expression.

His eyes narrow slightly, like he's looking for something on my face or in my eyes. I avoid looking at him directly. In truth, his face really is quite nice to look at, but I'm trying hard to pretend that it's not. That I don't notice those kind blue eyes, his good-natured smile or his warm expression. It would be too slippery a slope. It's best he doesn't start expecting anything from me, not with what I owe him already.

"Should we set a time to meet then? How 'bout this weekend?" He says in a little less confidently. I sigh before I can stop myself. _This_ weekend? "If you have plans, we can find another time next week..." he says and actually sounds...disappointed? Frustrated? I can't tell. I so rarely bother to try and read other people I don't even know how.

I try again, this time really focusing on total neutrality. "Um, I have to work every night next week... I work Saturday during the day...is that night okay? I do sort of have plans on Sunday."

"Sure, yeah, Saturday night. I think the libraries all close early on Saturdays...we could go to my place...if you want."

Awkward. This whole exchange is so unbelievably awkward. I want to say no, so I don't have to see his place and know anything more about the boy with the bread, but I don't want to offer up my own crappy basement apartment and I definitely can't afford to go anywhere where we'd have to buy anything. He's staring at me, waiting for an answer and I can't come up with anything better.

"Okay. I gotta go, so I'll email you about details." He looks stunned for a moment, but then quickly fishes out a pen and paper to jot down his email. I take it from him, snatch it really, and bolt out the door saying "bye" over my shoulder without looking back.

Once I burst through the outside door into the open air, I finally feel like I can breathe. I curse my unbelievable bad luck. Partnered with Peeta, what are the odds? I check my watch to see if Gale's out of class yet, but it'll be another hour before my misery will have company.

Gale is my best friend, has been since I was 12-years old. He's a couple of years older than me, but we've only ever been a grade apart. Not because he's not a smart guy, but because he, like me, has a story that's meant he's grown up way faster than anyone ever should.

His dad died down in the mine around the same time mine died in the war. We were a little young to really get it at the time, but we were united by their deaths and the feeling that if our dads hadn't been left with so few options to feed their families, we wouldn't be the ones having to do it without them. We bonded over our otherness; fatherless, poor and bitter kids who took refuge in the woods where we remembered happier times and felt free, normal.

My dad loved to hunt. Even though there were laws against carrying weapons without licenses and age restrictions, he started teaching me how to use a bow and arrow from the time I could hold one up properly. We would wander the woods, singing, eating berries, perfecting our shooting and every once in a while, taking home in-season game to supplement our flimsy weekly groceries. It was always a special time, our time.

Gale was the same, learned to hunt with his dad, learned at a young age how to make sure all of his siblings were fed. It was our second bonding point and it was enough to solidify our friendship in an 'us against the world' kind of way.

I was so relieved when he told me his mom decided the whole family would move so he could go to university. He would never have come if she didn't. They rent a small 3-bedroom apartment not too far from me, but Gale works construction when he's not in school to help pay the bills, so we don't get to see each other much outside of class. Still, knowing he's around during the day makes being here so much easier. Makes the distance between me and my sister and mother more bearable. I don't feel so far from home or from what I know with Gale here.

I decide I'm too cold to wait outside and don't feel like being around people in one of the surrounding buildings, so I abandon the idea of waiting for Gale and head back to my apartment. I could stand to get some homework done before work anyways.

My apartment is a bit of a hole, but it's the best a student on financial aid and scholarships can afford. The neighbourhood is decent and really close to campus, and even though it's a basement apartment, quite a bit of light comes in through the small windows.

There's a small kitchen area with a stove top, small refrigerator, sink and a few cupboards. My bed's off to one side covered in a quilt someone gave my mom as payment for treatment. I've also got a little sitting area with a side table and an oversized armchair next to a small desk and chair where my ancient desktop resides.

I pour myself a glass of water and manage to find some edible leftovers to nosh on while I boot up my computer. It takes longer than it should so I spend some time rooting around in my backpack for the piece of paper Peeta gave me.

I find it, pull it out and roll my eyes as I stare at it. Even his quickly written letters are elegant. I just can't catch a break with this guy – he's infallible! I continue to smooth out the paper even though it's perfectly legible as is.

The next several minutes are spent wondering what he thinks of me. I really have no idea. He might think me rude and ungrateful, which would totally make sense. Or maybe he feels sorry for me, being poor as I am. I find myself wondering if he has a girlfriend which takes me by surprise. _Why do I even care? _I don't, it's none of my business and none of my concern.

This leads me to several more minutes wondering what I think of him. A few images flash through my mind at once. The night with the bread, seeing him surrounded by friends in high school, his easy manner and thoughtful glances, his seemingly endless supply of new shoes and expensive clothing. It's hard to separate the competing ideas of him in my mind. I'm suddenly feeling defensive and know it's because sorting through my thoughts about Peeta means confronting feelings about myself. I'm in no hurry to do that though and promptly push the images out of mind.

Still, I decide that it's best to email him now and get it over with. Might as well get our plans worked out before the weekend instead of trying to figure them out at the last minute. I start to type but erase and re-start 4 times before I work out a message that I feel satisfied with.

Peeta,

Is 7 pm ok as a meeting time? Where do you live?

I'll be coming from my place in Sunnyside, so directions starting from there would be good.

See you Saturday,

Katniss

I hit send, feeling good about composing a mature message free from sarcasm or insults. I dig out a few textbooks and spend the rest of my time before work fighting an inexplicable urge to check my email.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N – A little longer than a week, but less than 2, so I'm not doing so bad with the updates ;) A big thank you to all who are reading and a thank you + virtual hug to those who are reviewing too. It's really fun to hear what you think!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 3<p>

PPOV

It takes me a few minutes to fully process what I'm seeing on the screen in front of me. After all these years, all I've done there's an email in my Inbox from Katniss. I'm still not sure about Professor Trinket forcing this on us, but I can't deny the way I feel just looking at her name on my computer screen.

Her email was pretty straight forward, which is good because that stopped me from over-analyzing it. It hasn't made responding any easier though. I'm staring at the screen, typing two words, erasing them and staring at the screen again. Eventually, I decide to stick to basics.

Katniss,

7 pm sounds great. I live in Suncrest, directions are attached.

I've included my cell number too, just in case.

Looking forward to it,

Peeta

I have mixed feelings sending the message. It feels good to be connected to her, if only momentarily and in the form of a few words in an email, but it's also only Thursday night and I know that's pretty much it for contact until Saturday.

It was a strange feeling, talking to her in class. I'd imagined what it would be like so many times...having a reason to casually talk to her, finding a way to spend time together, exchanging contact information. I'd come so close to attempting that very same thing innumerable times, both in high school and here in Morgantown, but I'd never been pushed into actually doing it like I was today.

I'm not so deluded that I didn't notice her tense at the thought of getting together on the weekend. The thought of it so repellent to her that she'd actually audibly sighed at the suggestion. It's why the forced contact thing is such a blessing and a curse. It's amazing to finally have a reason to spend time with her, but heartbreaking to see how contrary she feels about it. It's creating this weird internal conflict in me that's making me want a drink.

I decide to not bother trying to deny the impulse and walk to the closest store selling liquor. It's not something I do very often. I don't like the feeling of an unclear head most of the time. But right now, it's sounding like the best idea I've had in a good, long while.

I choose beer, because it seems like a less sad thing to drink alone, and head to the check-out. The woman at the register smiles kindly at me as she checks my I.D. We talk about the weather and about Thanksgiving being just around the corner. She tells me her son is coming for a visit with his wife and their baby girl. She shows me a picture and I tell her she has a beautiful family. By this time the woman is beaming and calling me by my name like we're old friends.

"Do you like chocolate?" she asks. I nod and she winks at me while tucking a large bar of it into the cloth bag now containing my beer.

"Have a wonderful weekend, Peeta!" she calls after me. I smile widely back as I repeat my thanks.

The whole interaction is one I experience a lot. I'm pretty comfortable around people and most seem comfortable around me. I'm not sure exactly how it happens, but I find myself in a lot of conversations with strangers.

After my first beer, I get too lazy to cook and opt for something frozen and quick for dinner. I settle in front of the television and proceed to mindlessly click through channel after channel as I continue to drink and let my mind drift to Katniss.

I'm so hopelessly attracted to how driven she is to be herself. She never seems swayed by popularity, expectation or status. Even as a teenage girl she was somehow above it all and there's something so real about that. I'm the guy who's the happy-go-lucky, friends-with- everybody type, so I come into contact with a fair number of disingenuous people. For some it's a way to be liked, for others it's a strategy to get ahead. Whatever the reason, it's hard to hold onto yourself in the presence of so many carefully constructed personae.

But Katniss, she just really doesn't seem to give a shit about all that. She is who she is in this refreshing, intimidating way. It scares the hell out of me, but at least I'll know where I stand.

I resolve to keep being me and not change according to her reactions. What else can I do at this point? I'll watch out for her as I always have, try to make our time together as comfortable and enjoyable as I can and if she still seems upset about spending time with me, well, I'll deal with that then. She doesn't deserve any less if she doesn't like me and she might not deserve more, but I'll give it to her anyways because that's what I've always done.

After several more hours of musing, simulated television watching and a few more beers, I head out into the dark, chilly night to make sure Katniss gets home from work okay.

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><p>When the sunlight hits my eyes, I'm nowhere near ready to get up. I only have one class on Fridays and I'd decided long before falling asleep last night that there was no way I was going to it. My throbbing head reminds me that I'm an infrequent drinker who had one...or four too many.<p>

After groaning three or four times and trying in vain to block out the light, I accept I've been beaten and drag my ass out of bed. In my drunken haze the night before, possibly while watching longingly as Katniss entered her building, I forged a preparations plan for Saturday night.

I'd decided that I would bake and cook some things that I'd just have casually around and that I would clean my apartment, but in a way that still looks lived in. I force my foggy brain to assess the wisdom of said plan. Is it more crazy or cheesy than it is good? Hard to say, but really, it's all I got.

With some coffee and toast in me, I'm thinking more clearly. I go through my cupboards and make a shopping list. I also triple check essentials like toilet paper to make sure there's no embarrassing oversights on my part.

Taking a critical look around me, I'm starting to worry that my apartment is a little much. Katniss might seriously resent me for it. I've got a pretty sweet set-up for a student, but most of it is just the result of my mom's guilt.

To say that my mother lacks maternal instincts is really too nice a way to put it. She really only has two ways of operating: distant and cold or angry and abusive. Her abuse came mostly in verbal form, but she wasn't above smacking us around when she was feeling especially spiteful. Her shortcomings as a parent always led to her trying extra hard to keep up our happy family image. Somehow spending money on us came more easily to her than actual mothering, which meant we got a lot of shit we didn't need instead of a real mom.

My apartment was no different. She insisted on the best of everything, got me all set up and then promptly stopped communicating with me entirely.

It's made my relationship with my dad pretty strange. We've always gotten along, he's a kind, thoughtful, compassionate man, but why he stays married to my mother I'll never understand. How he could stand by while she treated us the way she did...it's a hard thing to look past, even for me.

I think about moving some of the electronics out, or covering the furniture up a bit, but then decide it's not worth hiding. I've got nice stuff. I could have had a great mother and crappy stuff, but I got a horrible one and a bunch of expensive things instead. It's who I am, for better or for worse. I still naively believe that Katniss will see past it and understand. I kinda have to.

After a trip to the grocery store and once I feel satisfied with my cleaning job, I decide it's enough for the day and check my email and Facebook to see if anything's going on with my friends tonight. It is Friday after all.

A slow, much-too-big smile spreads across my face when I see an unread email message from Katniss in my Inbox. I check the delivery time on it and am more than a little delighted to find she sent it as soon as she got home from work last night. I may have even still been outside her apartment when she wrote it. The thought excites me and I immediately feel stupid for paralleling the reactions of a 13-yr old girl. _Pull it together, Mellark._

Just as suddenly as my excitement began, it's replaced with horrible, gut-wrenching panic as I begin to think the worst. What if she saw me outside of her apartment? What if she's cancelling? What if she talked to Professor Trinket about getting a different partner?

I brace myself and click the innocent looking, subject-less line at the top of the screen. I breathe a sigh of relief and allow the goofy grin to take its place back on my face.

Hey,

Thanks, I'm pretty sure I know where that is. I put your number in my phone.

See you soon,

Katniss

She wrote back. She didn't have to. Plans were made, she had all the information she needed, but she still wrote back. And her phone. She took the time to type my name and enter my number and when she scrolls through her contacts list, she'll see it there in black typeface. I'm giddy in a ridiculous way and nearly find myself writing back, but then I realize I really have nothing to say and another email to write, "Great!" would be stupid.

I settle for calling up a few friends to head out for a celebratory night on the town, which really just means a pitcher and bad nachos at a local sports bar.

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><p>The morning arrives a lot more gently than yesterday's. I avoided drinking last night, which was the right move since I intend to bake and cook the day, and my nervousness, away.<p>

I've decided on cheese buns, a classic of mine, and a stew that I'll just have around in case she's hungry. I'm also going to bake cookies because, well, who doesn't love cookies? I haven't worked out how I'll explain having fresh baked cookies on-hand, but I'm not worrying about it at this point.

Baking is second only to art in my world. I throw on some tunes, get some food in my stomach so I don't eat everything as I'm making it, and start flouring my counter top. I measure things out with no need for recipes or exactitude, it's second nature for me at this point.

I get into a rhythm making my dough, relying on the feel of it through my fingers to tell me what it needs. A little more flour, a touch of water, a pinch of salt. It comes together beautifully and I know before it's even finished rising that unless I screw up the baking time, it will be perfect.

I move onto the stew, an old recipe my grandma used to make my dad when he was little. To this day I'm not sure if it appeals to me more as a delicious comfort food or a thing that connects me to my dad in a way that doesn't include my mother.

As soon as the cold weather hits, it's the food I crave the most and there's this inherent male part of me that just wants wants Katniss to love it, to be full and satisfied and cared for. I know she doesn't need it, and would probably never let me, but I want to take care of her in every possible way I can. It's antiquated and silly and I know this, but I look at her and I want to make everything better.

When I'm confident the stew is as delicious as it can possibly be, I throw together a batch of spicy sweet ginger cookies. Because they're my favourite, it won't feel like a lie if I tell Katniss I made them because I can't find a single decent version of them in this town.

I check the time once they're out and onto a cooling rack and realize it's already 4 p.m. Just enough time to shower, get dressed and freak out for a while longer before she finally gets here.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N – Thank you all again for your incredibly positive reviews! Amazing!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 4<p>

KPOV

He wasn't on campus Friday. I feel stupid for even noticing, but for whatever reason, his absence is always obvious to me.

My mind keeps coming back to that night. Do I mention it? Will he be expecting me to? Be ready to throw it in my face if I don't?

I wish we didn't have it hanging between us and could just be two people from the same district. This assignment would still be awkward, but our interaction wouldn't be so loaded like it is now.

His email said he lives in Suncrest. Of course he does. I'm sure he has one of those trendy loft apartments with a million windows and exposed brick walls, too.

I know people whose parents have money aren't bad people. I know this and yet something in me has still been conditioned to distrust them, to believe them soft and entitled.

Peeta seems different, annoyingly likeable and honest. But I can't afford to take the chance on trusting him. I worked so hard to get here and my mother and Prim are counting on me to succeed. I need to stay focused and avoid any interpersonal bullshit that'll jeopardize my future.

I can't keep my mind from wandering back to him throughout my shift at work. I work at the deli counter of a local grocer. It's decent work. Nice and solitary for the most part and I don't mind the butchering. My dad taught me how to do most of it at the same time as he taught me to hunt. We'd skin or pluck and expertly butcher rabbits, birds and larger game when we could get it. I'm sure it grossed me out the first few times, but I would never have let my dad know that. I remember wanting him to see me as brave and strong no matter what. Working here keeps him close. Tonight though, Peeta's the one on my mind.

When my shift ends and I get home home the first thing I do is check my email. There's nothing worth noting in my Inbox, so I open Peeta's message again. His email doesn't say much, but I appreciate the no-nonsense-ness of it. I pick up my old crappy pay-as-you-go cell phone and enter his number. I have so few numbers on my contact list that Peeta's ends up being one of only three numbers along with Gale and Home.

I think about going to sleep, but something is still nagging at me and I'm not sure what it is. I stare back at the screen, twirling my long braid absentmindedly.

I find myself writing back even though I know it's unnecessary. Who is this..._girl_ I've become? My response doesn't even really say anything, but it does the trick. Almost as soon as I hit "send" the drowsiness sets in and I find I'm easily carried off into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

><p>Saturday plays out like every other Saturday. I get up at an ungodly hour for my busiest shift of the week. The demanding orders and endless small talk wear me down and by the time my workday ends I'm spent and need to get back outside.<p>

Gale is working most of tomorrow, but will be able to meet me at our spot for lunch. I'm looking forward to our time together like I look forward to little else. We're like separate pieces of the same person, as comfortable with each other as we are by ourselves. Gale means more to me than we've ever talked about and probably ever will. It's not romantic, at least it hasn't been until now, it's just...us.

But, before I can have my blessed day in the woods and my much-needed Gale-time, there's tonight to get through. An evening at Peeta Mellark's...who would've thought?

I get home from work and take a long, hot shower, hoping to wash away my foul mood and exhaustion. I pull on a pair of cargo pants and a black t-shirt and decide to braid my hair while it's still wet because it's easier than trying to dry it and actually do something with it. I know it's not exactly a fashionable outfit and there's a small part of me that wishes I was more style-inclined. Really though, my lifestyle of school-work-woods doesn't require much of a beauty routine.

I really should eat something before I leave, but when I check the fridge I discover I'm realizing this far too late to make anything edible out of the disparate ingredients.

"Shit!" I exclaim, to no one in particular. But, there's nothing to be done now. I head out towards Peeta's, my stomach protesting all the way.

* * *

><p>When the door opens, I'm hit with a barrage of smells so tempting my mouth begins to water uncontrollably. Peeta's wide and easy grin is the next thing I notice and I think I'm smiling back, remarkably, despite myself.<p>

"Hey," he says, "you made it."

"Yup," I answer without elaborating.

He stands aside, ushering me in. The pseudo smile on my face slips a little as I take in the scene in front of me. Peeta's apartment is even cooler than I'd suspected. The layout isn't unlike my own, just larger. He's got a kitchen/living room area divided by a beautiful island on the kitchen side and a large, comfy looking, leathery couch creating a cozy sitting area on the other. I don't see a giant-ass television, which surprises me, but I do see an impressive looking stereo system and incredible, almost certainly insanely expensive, art. Everywhere.

He's got a desk area in a separate alcove with overspilling bookshelves, and another space that I can't determine the purpose of because it's blocked from my view by one of those room divider things.

My eyes eventually wander over to the space where his bed is. It's on a beautiful wood platform on an already slightly raised part of the space. His bed is on a goddamn pedestal! Unbelievable.

I look back in his direction and he's looking...embarrassed, I think. Who could be embarrassed by such a ridiculously nice apartment?

"I haven't had a chance to eat yet, so I was just going to have something now. Have you eaten? There's plenty."

My first instinct is to say yes I've eaten and no to the food, but I can't detect any pity or assumption in his voice, just a genuinely kind offer. I'm about to say no anyways, out of stubborn defiance, but then my stomach growls so loud we both smile, the tension eases and I agree to join him in eating.

It's now my turn to be embarrassed. I take my first bite of the amazing smelling stew and I can't stop myself. I begin to devour it like a hungry dog, barely breathing or stopping to look up. It's one of the best things I've eaten since being back home.

Peeta chuckles lightly and says, "I'm glad you like it." I put my fork down for the first time since picking it up, feeling my cheeks getting hot.

"I didn't realize how hungry I was. It's really good." I say, stating the obvious.

"It's my grandma's recipe...one of my favourites. I have these too," he says, passing me a plate of big, beautiful buns with bubbly, melty cheese on top.

I take one eagerly and sink my teeth into the soft, airy bread. "These are amazing," I say, my mouth still full, "where did you get them?"

That look is back on his face, that same bashful look he had when I first arrived. "I, I made them," he stammers.

Still the boy with the bread. I don't know why it didn't occur to me that he might have made them. I guess because it seems like such an atypical thing for a college boy to do on a weekend. But who am I to judge? I butcher meats and run around in the woods on weekends. Not exactly typical college girl things to do either.

"Wow, I never knew what I was missing all those years in Oak Hill," I say knowing it's a lie. We could never have afforded Peeta's family's baked goods.

He knows this too, of course, but is gracious enough to reply evenly, "Well, you're welcome to as many as you want. I really shouldn't eat the whole batch myself."

"Thanks," I say simply before reaching for another.

After my second helping of stew I finally feel full and figure we should probably get to work. Peeta senses this without my having to say it out loud and quickly clears the table, leaving it as an option for us to work on. "Do you want to get started here or maybe over there?" he asks, nodding towards the living room area.

I'm torn by indecision. I shift uncomfortably on the hard kitchen chairs, looking longingly at the puffy couch. Is it too informal? I mean, we're not buddies or anything...would I even want that? I'm being stupid, it's just a couch, but then why am I feeling so weird about it?

I'm guessing he can read the uncertainty on my face because he offers an alternative, "I have a few chairs that are probably more comfortable than these ones, I'll just pull them up to the table."

I watch as he disappears behind the room divider and emerges with two paint-splattered chairs with a curve to them that does look much more comfortable than the wooden kitchen chairs.

"Don't worry, it's dry," he says, presumably about the paint. There are dozens of colours marking the chairs and I'm momentarily confused about their origin. Then I look around, really look at all the art surrounding me. It's all so raw and vivid and definitely came from the same artist.

"Are these? I mean, did you...?" I trail off, moving to a painting I feel especially drawn to. It seems familiar and as I look more closely, I realize it's the view from the back of Peeta's parents' bakery. It's the laneway from that night. The spot where I would have been is obscured by shadows. It's haunting and beautiful.

"Yeah, I did. It...it helps me to, um, relax." And he's embarrassed again and I feel horrible for obviously making this guy so uncomfortable in his own home.

"They're really great, Peeta. And I totally get it, I go crazy if I can't get outside and into the woods...it's the only place I'm ever completely relaxed."

The uneasy expression on his face is replaced by a far off look I know all too well. It's the same one my mom had for several years after my father's death. I wonder where Peeta has gone inside his own head, wonder what has sent him so far away.

I stay silent, waiting for him to speak next. When he does he says, "Thanks. It's weird to talk about actually, I never really do. Even my family...my dad's the only one who knows I paint."

"Why?" I ask quietly.

"You know Oak Hill, art isn't exactly a popular activity...especially for guys. It's just the kind of thing I don't want to share with people who don't get it, you know? It would change it somehow."

I'm floored by his frank admission. I'm not sure I ever talk to anyone as honestly as he's talking to me. Well, maybe Gale. And suddenly I'm feeling weird about the intimate turn the conversation has taken, especially having just thought of Gale. I guess because he's been the only person I've ever been close to other than Prim.

The only words I can force out of my mouth are, "Yeah, I know what you mean."

Peeta shakes his head, like he's willing himself back to the present and gives me a warm smile, then he carries the chairs towards the table and begins pulling rifling through his binder for the project instructions.

I turn back to the painting, searching for some unknown thing and feeling more than I thought possible from a canvas and some paint. I couldn't say what about it I find so moving if asked to explain it out loud. It's sad but hopeful, dirty but startlingly beautiful, so beat down but so enduring at the same time.

I surprise myself by having to fight back tears, take a deep breath and turn to join Peeta at the table to continue our work together. He's already looking at me, perhaps he'd been watching me while I was looking at his painting. His eyes don't flit away as they have before, instead he meets my gaze with an unwavering intensity. I know he must see the emotion I'm attempting to wipe from my face, but this time I don't try to hide it or look away either. His mouth curves into a brilliant, beaming smile and I can feel that mine has done the same.

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><p>AN – I'm off to watch the actual Hunger Games now! So insanely excited! I'm sure you all are doing the same – enjoy!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N – Here's the next chapter, hope you like it! I tried to publish it earlier today, but I don't think it worked - fingers crossed the second time's a charm. Happy Reading! :)

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 5<p>

PPOV

Few joys in life could ever compare to the feeling of watching Katniss stare at my painting and seeing nothing but the most genuine of emotions play out on her beautiful face. I had contemplated taking the painting of the laneway behind our bakery down, thinking that it might upset her, but seeing her reaction and the way she was drawn to it tells me I made the right choice in leaving it up.

By the time we got started on our assignment, I was nothing short of elated with how things had gone up to that point. She ate my food and loved it, didn't bitch me out for having a nice apartment and responded to my art in a way no one ever has.

Our conversations have been relatively short, and I can see that of the two of us I'm definitely the talker, so I'm trying not to overwhelm her with too much chatter. It's hard though because my instincts would have me baring every last bit of my soul, something I know would send her running for the hills. I intend to be honest with her, intend to answer any question she ever asks truthfully, but for now the best I can do is not freak her out.

Now that we're wrapping up over hot chocolate and cookies, I'm starting to dread the end of our time together. I know I'll see her again soon, but I'm feeling the loss already. I'm afraid of what'll happen when she leaves, when the project's over, when we graduate... I just wish there was some way to slow down time, to stretch out every minute into years.

Katniss is enjoying her third cookie when she finally mumbles with her mouth full, "Did you make these, too?"

I nod, no longer embarrassed by my obvious preparations. She's been pretty cool about it and since cooking and baking really are my best moves, I kinda just have to go for it.

"They're good, I like the spice. I think I like the cheese buns better though," Katniss says matter-of-factly, which makes me chuckle.

"Thanks. Yeah, bread's always been more my thing. It's the decorating of desserts I'm better at."

"Is that how you got started with the painting?"

"Yeah, I mean, it's how I figured out I could do it. I liked the distraction, you know? It took so much focus to do each little flower or letter that the rest of the world just kinda fell away while I was doing it. When I finally started trying it out for real, sketching and painting, I was hooked."

She doesn't say anything, just nods, looking pensive. I'm not sure if I should stop talking and let her finish thinking or keep going to fill the silence.

I wait for what must be a full minute and she still hasn't said anything. So I take a chance because she seems to have gotten everything I've said about my art so far and say, "I always felt a little trapped in Oak Hill, maybe it's because most people who live there act like they're stuck there, but I always felt a little freer decorating those cakes, like there was a piece of me that couldn't be trapped."

I think she shakes her head slightly, but I can't be sure. When she answers, her voice has become hard and defensive.

"Well, some people have a lot to deal with...issues and people that can't be left behind. Most people don't get to live a charmed life in Oak Hill." She doesn't look at me even though I'm now glaring at her incredulously. How did this become a conversation about money? My hand shoots up reflexively to the spot on my face where the heel of my mother's hand landed so often as a child.

"You know, Katniss, _people's_ lives aren't as charmed as you think. Having food on the table doesn't mean your life is perfect."

"Right, but it does mean you get to do things that aren't worrying about surviving, doesn't it? Things that aren't staring at your baby sister's hollow face, wondering if she'll die before you figure out how to feed her." Her voice has raised a little bit now and I can see that her eyes have turned to ice even though she still hasn't looked at me directly. I'm confused about how quickly things have changed. How did we get from, "Yeah, I know what you mean," to here?

Before I can really thing it through, I'm responding, "Sure, but you know who would've looked out for me if I were the one starving? No one. My mother thinks of us all as a series of mistakes and my brothers don't give a shit about anyone but themselves. You know what your sister has that's better than fancy bread and a nice house? You. I would've given anything to have just one person know I even existed."

I don't even know who I'm talking about anymore. Is it her I wanted to notice me? My family? What is it that I'm actually saying? I'm guessing things got a little too raw for me when we first started talking about my art and now I'm just being overly defensive too. Whatever's going on, it's probably too much for our first time actually talking to each other.

Now I let the silence hang in the air, not worrying about how long it's been there. She's back to looking deep in thought and her eyes have softened a little bit. It seems the heatedness of the moment has passed. I start breathing again, not sure where to go from here.

I get up to clear our mugs and the plate that now has only one cookie left on it. I hold the plate out to her with a small smile, hoping she interprets it as the olive branch I'm intending it to be. Katniss looks at me for the first time in what feels like hours. She searches my face for a moment and must find what she's looking for because she returns a grin and takes the cookie, biting into it before I've even turned to walk towards the sink.

We wrap up our planning and start talking about our next meeting. We agree on Monday afternoon and decide to meet right on campus because Katniss doesn't start work until 6pm and we finish our classes around the same time, so we'll have a good couple of hours.

"Should I bring some leftovers? I've got stew here for a week." I offer it casually, without thinking.

"Peeta, you don't have to do that. I can get my own food." The edge to her voice is back,

Damn, one act of kindness too far - she's pissed at me again. I take a deep breath, waiting a few more beats before responding this time.

"I know you can get your own food, Katniss. I just have more than I can eat myself, you said you liked it so I thought I'd share it with you. That's all." I still sound frustrated. It surprises me because I'm usually abnormally patient. While I was pretty sure she'd tear me a new one during our time together, I wasn't expecting to actually fire back. I never would have thought

that I'd be challenging her in this way, never in the thousands of times I imagined us spending time together.

My tone seems to pull her up short because she's looking at me with a look of shock that almost makes me laugh out loud. I'm pretty sure if I did though she'd kick me in the nuts, so I keep my face as passive as possible.

"Okay, I guess we'd be able to work longer if we have some food. Thanks." She speaks quietly, maybe even bashfully.

I don't say anything, only nod. I'm not sure what I could say anyways.

Katniss rises to leave and I just watch silently as she gathers her things and heads to the door. We confirm our meeting place for Monday, she thanks me and says goodnight, and I walk her out to the street. I watch her for just a minute as she disappears into the darkness, her silhouette mixing in with the shadows until it's gone.

* * *

><p>I'm lying in my bed, staring at the same spot on the ceiling I've been looking at for over an hour. It was crazy to think I could fall asleep after the intensity of the day. Even now as I run through the evening over and over again in my head, it feels so surreal. Katniss was in my apartment. Last week the thought of saying "hi" to her made me queasy with anxiety, today she sat a foot away from me, eating my food and complimenting my art.<p>

I wonder what she thinks of me. I wonder if I totally blew it after our couple of tense moments. I couldn't help it though. The assumptions she has about me are so...painful. It's like she doesn't really see me at all, after all this time she still looks at me and only sees a selfish person with money who'll only hurt her.

That night, all those years ago, I should have done more, should have...but I've been down the road these thoughts take me on before. I know she would've resented anything I tried to do. But then why? Why have I been doing all of this without her even knowing it?

I don't ask myself this question very often, it's embarrassing and depressing and just leads to my feeling sorry for myself. I know, though, that I do it because she should have someone looking out for her. I never did and I know what that's like. Seeing her basically raising her sister, with very few friends and no real mother to speak of... Watching her struggle to feed her family, keep it together at school, still dreaming of something better for herself... She's braver than I've ever been, even as she carries the weight of the world on her shoulders. She deserves to have at least some things that go right. If she only knew, only knew that I would spend the rest of my life doing whatever it takes to give her everything she's ever wanted.

* * *

><p>I'm only halfway through a mountain of homework by mid-morning Sunday, not sure if I'll get enough done in time to head over to my buddy's place to catch the game this afternoon. Some mindless entertainment and good company would go a long way right now, but not until I get this workload under control.<p>

I wonder about the plans Katniss said she had today. Wonder if they involve that guy, Gale. I can't get a read on the exact nature of their relationship and it would be a weird thing to come right out and ask. I remember the way all the girls in high school talked about him; tall, dark and brooding is apparently the most desirable combination ever. I rolled my eyes at them all back then, but on the inside I couldn't help but be jealous. I can objectively say without any (or much) self-deprecation that I'm no competition for a guy like Gale.

I sigh and flip through my textbook knowing that my focus is gone and so is any hope I had of spending the afternoon watching sports. It's been happening to me more and more lately. I thought a business degree made a lot of sense back when I started, but I'm not so sure anymore. I've been going through the motions for months, and now I can't even seem to do that.

I'll have to work through the afternoon, but know I need to clear my head just for a little while. I head over to my easel and start a new painting. I settle on the image of Katniss walking away into the night, eerie and beautiful. It's one of the more striking visuals that has stayed with me since yesterday.

Colours mixed and brushes selected, I start filling the canvas with the picture stuck in my mind. I let my mind drift and decide that I can't keep doing what I have been. Just seeing Katniss' reaction to my offer of leftovers tells me that if she ever found out that I've been helping the odds work a little more in her favour she'd either kick the crap out of me, have me arrested or never speak to me again. Maybe all three, it's hard to say.

Actually spending time with her does open the door to a new kind of watching out for her though, one that can include cheese buns and cookies and showing her that I'm not the enemy, that I'd like to be the furthest thing from that there is. Whether or not she'll let me, well, that's a whole other thing.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N – Thank you to all of you who are reviewing and favouriting – I love it! I'm sorry this took a little longer than the other chapters, I had some serious personal drama to deal with, but I believe all is well again and I should be back to a fairly regular schedule for at least a little while ;)

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 6<p>

KPOV

Gale is already waiting for me when I reach our favourite spot in the woods just outside of town. I think we meet here because it reminds us of our rock outcrop and meadow back home. The one we spent so many long, lazy afternoons in as teenagers.

He's a tall, broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and a wide, easy grin. He's that brooding type girls love so much, the kind that's always smouldering just under the surface about one injustice or another. The kind who's passionate about human rights, angry at the world and seemingly completely oblivious to the effect that he has on just about every female he comes into contact with.

I say 'just about' because Gale has yet to have this effect on me. I don't know if it's because we've been friends for so long and I was too young or naive in the beginning to see it or if it's because I have yet to feel anything romantic for anyone at all. I know it's strange - many girls my age are starting to marry off, most have been having sex for years and almost all revolve the vast majority of their time around something to do with boys – but there's always been so much more to worry about than the attention of some guy. What place does romance have in my world?

"Hey, Catnip."

"Hey, yourself."

"Beautiful day for a lunch in the great outdoors."

I take in the spread he's laid out for us and can't help but nod my head and smile in agreement. He's brought good cheeses, some fresh baked bread and a container of delicious looking mixed olives. All delicacies I can never afford to treat myself to.

I pull a brown paper bag out of my backpack and lay out some cured meats and blackberries I brought home from work the day before.

"I love it when you get the good salami," Gale says appreciatively, popping several pieces at once in his mouth.

I grin back at him and begin helping myself to the food with the same enthusiasm. I'm careful to savour the olives slowly, otherwise I'd finish the container in minutes. I take my time spreading the soft cheese across the bread and chew it more than is necessary, stopping to eat the berries one at a time in between each bite. I've learned these little tricks over the years to prolong the enjoyment of special food in limited quantities.

Who knows where my self-restraint was at Peeta's yesterday, there I didn't even stop to breathe. I can feel myself reddening a bit at the memory. I must have seemed like such a glutton.

"Whatever you're thinking about must be good, Catnip, you're blushing."

"What? No I'm not," I say more defensively than is needed.

"Does it have anything to do with your date with that snobby bakery kid?" Gale teases with a sneer.

It rubs me the wrong way, so I answer bitchily, "There are like ten things wrong with that question, Gale, and you know it. It wasn't a date, he's not a snob and he's not a kid either – we're the same age!"

"Geez, okay, I didn't realize you guys were friends." This also pisses me off and I'm not even sure why.

"We're not friends! We're in the same class and doing an assignment together, that's all. And he's a nice guy, so just back off."

"Done," Gale says haughtily then says nothing further.

We eat in silence until the food is gone. It's warm for a late October day, so I take off the hoodie I'm wearing, sit back and stretch my legs out in front of me.

"Are we talking again?" Gale asks, his voice back to its usual casual tone.

"I guess," I answer and give him a half-smile. "Let's just not talk about Peeta, okay?"

"Peeta! That's his name. I couldn't remember..." Gale exclaims, but I see right through him.

"You're so full of shit, Gale. You know what his name is. But it doesn't matter, we're not talking about him anyways."

"Okay, I got it. _Peter_'s off limits," he grins. I roll my eyes and punch him lightly in the arm. We're back to being us and I finally feel comfortable again. In my woods with my best friend. It's a beautiful day.

* * *

><p>When Gale leaves to head to work, I'm left thinking about our day and the night before with Peeta.<p>

I wander through the dense forest, ignoring marked trail signs that at this point I have no need for. As I do I play back some of the stand-out moments with Peeta and start to compare my interactions with each.

Gale is home and comfort and we're so, so alike. Peeta is...what is Peeta? He's confusion and contradiction and warmth and strength and we're incredibly, irrevocably different...aren't we?

I get frustrated with my inability to get a handle on my thoughts so I push them out of my mind, tilt my face a little more towards the sun and put all of my concentration into a vigorous hike.

My lungs expand to take in as much fresh air as possible. I feel my muscles straining to propel me up the steep path I've chosen. I start to tune into the sounds surrounding me: the birds, the rustling of the leaves, the swooshing sounds of clothes moving with my body.

I'd love to be hunting right now, but don't really do it while I'm away at school. I'm not really equipped for the aftermath in my tiny apartment. I should be able to when I'm home for Thanksgiving though.

Thinking about Thanksgiving gets me a little stressed again. Seeing Prim is always so bittersweet. I miss her so much and I love my time with her, but it's just as hard to leave her every time. Christmas is good, the break is longer. Thanksgiving always feels like I'm being cheated out of real time at home.

It's been weird going back for holidays without Gale being there anymore. His family comes to Oak Hill sometimes during the summer to visit, but it's not the same as having access to him all the time like in high school. I spend even more time alone now when I go home for breaks.

Peeta will be there though. I wonder if we'll see each other back home. Would we say hello? Talk? Hangout? I can't picture it, but think I want to. Maybe I do want to be friends...

It still pisses me off that Gale was such a douche about him. Granted, we're usually on the same page when it comes to the Oak Hill upper crust so I get his attitude, but he doesn't even know him and anyways I'm allowed to have other friends.

I sigh incredibly loudly to no one in particular. This is why I don't bother with this crap most of the time.

* * *

><p>When I wake up Monday morning, I'm already looking forward to the afternoon. I'm anxious for Peeta's company, which is a surprise, but not an entirely unwelcome one. It's nice to not be spending so much time alone.<p>

My morning classes drag. I'm distracted and not really listening. You'd think they'd make classes designed for people who want to make their living outside a little more exciting. Or a little more outside.

At long last 3:30 arrives, signalling the end of my academic day, and I head to the ladies washroom before going to meet Peeta. I find myself standing in front of the mirror, trying to decide whether I should re-braid my hair or let it hang loose. I'm also uncomfortable with the fact that I even care, but I can't dwell on that now. I end up going with loose because I haven't brought a comb or anything and trying to do anything with my hair might be a disaster without one.

I comb my fingers through it, surprised to see that the loose waves my braid has created actually look good. I frown at my clothing, but get it over it quickly. I don't have the money or inclination to bother trying to change my casual, outdoorsy style.

I walk quickly across campus to our agreed meeting place. It's a student lounge that has comfortable seating and access to microwaves for those who bring their food from home. It will serve us and our leftovers well.

A quick look around tells me I have beaten Peeta here. I think carefully about where I'd like to sit and choose two comfy armchairs on either side of a small table, tucked away towards the back of the space near a window.

I take off my jacket and pull my books out of my bag. I look up from my now organized pile and see Peeta walking towards me, his face made friendlier by his big grin and bright eyes.

I smile back, the feeling of warmth spreading through me almost completely foreign.

"Hey, you beat me here," he says while unpacking his bag. He removes two containers of stew, a bag containing two cheese buns and a single plastic-wrapped cookie. "Are you hungry now? I'll go heat these up."

He doesn't really wait for a response, just heads off towards the microwave. I consider doing the polite thing and waiting for him to return before I bust into the cheese buns, but saliva is already filling my mouth like a hungry dog. I open the bag and within seconds am sinking my teeth into the soft, salty bread.

When he returns with the steaming containers he looks back and forth between me and the bread then back to me again and laughs softly.

"So, you are hungry now then," he says, nothing but a genuinely delighted tone to his voice.

I nod then realize I haven't spoken out loud yet. I swallow and say, "Yeah, I guess I am. Also, hi."

He's still grinning and replies, "Hi. How was your day off yesterday?"

The question is innocuous. It's polite small talk, yet I'm still taken aback, not used to casual conversation with new people. "Uh, it was good...thanks."

"Get up to anything special?" He still sounds casual, but there's a hint of something else I can't quite make out.

"Not really, spent some time in the woods...had lunch with a friend."

"Sounds like a great day off." When he says this his voice has changed a bit, has lost some of it's lightness.

"How about you?" I ask, because it seems like the appropriate response.

"Caught up on some homework and worked on a new painting." His cheeks redden enough when he mentions the painting that I both want to ignore the subject completely and beg him to tell me more. I play it safe.

"It's amazing that you could be inspired to paint and do homework on the same day."

"It was an inspiring weekend." He says it quietly and averts his eyes, but his cheeks are still red and I can see the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. What I see in his face and hear in his voice convinces me I'm not prepared to hear anymore about the painting. I'm out of my comfort zone and feeling that all-too-familiar urge to run.

"Katniss," he says and the tone of his voice pulls me out of my panic. It's firm, but somehow still kind. "How 'bout we just eat and get to work?" He looks me straight in the eye and holds my gaze. It's reassuring and I relax a little again.

I nod and turn my attention to the container of stew in front of me. It's as good as it was on Saturday and I'm happy to completely shift my focus back to devouring it. I can see out of the corner of my eye that Peeta stares at me a moment longer before also starting in on his food.

We eat in silence for a few minutes before I finally look up. Peeta catches my eye and nudges the second cheese bun towards me, gesturing for me to take it. I hesitate only for a moment, then grab it, smiling at Peeta with the biggest grin I can manage around the too-big bite I take.

He laughs lightly and I'm surprised to realize that I'm feeling comfortable, enjoying myself even. And that this isn't the worst assignment ever, I actually like spending time with Peeta. Maybe I do want to be friends. Maybe I... nope, too much. It's a big enough realization for today and all I'm prepared to deal with, for now.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N – Hey all! Many thanks for all of your lovely reviews – you are all so sweet and kind!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 7<p>

PPOV

I don't see Katniss with her hair down very often and I'm trying not to stare. After a touch-and-go start, things are finally feeling comfortable and I don't want to ruin it. It's still surreal to be here - sharing another meal, talking, laughing – I have to keep reassuring myself that it's actually happening.

"I brought you the last cookie," I say, working hard to keep my tone casual. "I've had way too many."

I'm not sure what to expect, but she graciously accepts it with a 'thank you' that sounds almost sweet, well, sweet for Katniss. I sigh with relief, internally.

When we're done with our food, we turn our focus to the assignment, which is good, safe ground for conversation. We decide who will do what parts of the research component and agree on a deadline for when we'll go through our findings. We also start to plan out the field component of the project when we'll have to actually go to our assigned neighbourhood, take some pictures and talk to the locals. It's a no-brainer that I'll do most of the talking and photographing and Katniss will pull it all together for the final report. She seems relieved when I suggest we break things down that way.

The project is due just after Thanksgiving and before our first semester final exams. We may even have to work on it while we're home in Oak Hill for the holiday weekend, and hanging out with Katniss in our hometown is something I never thought I'd get to do. I feel exceptionally lucky that the odds have worked out so beautifully in my favour.

Katniss is checking her phone for the time. I frown when I see how old and likely unreliable it is. I remind myself that I can't fix everything for her and work to make my face neutral again.

"I've got about fifteen more minutes before I have to go to work," she says and again I find myself wanting to make all of her obligations disappear. I then wonder if there are books or classes for neanderthal men like me who have these insane impulses to fix and do everything for the women they care about. She's more capable than I am at pretty much everything, so what the hell?

"Maybe we could meet again...in a few days...like, after our class?" Her question takes me aback because we don't really have to meet again, let alone three days from now. It's a big step and a sign that I haven't completely blown this thing.

"Yeah, I'd really like that, Katniss." She finally meets my eyes when I say her name out loud. I'm still getting used to it, but her looking at me still takes my breath away every time.

When she leaves to go to work I stay for half an hour longer, just staring out the window, grinning like an idiot.

* * *

><p>When I get home I begin obsessively focusing on various evasive manoeuvres. I clean out the fridge, check my emails, reorganize my art supplies and sort some laundry. I have to call home tonight to work out my Thanksgiving plans and the thought of having to endure a forced conversation with my mother causes a weighty, awful feeling in my chest and a nauseousness I can't shake.<p>

I run out of things to do by eight o'clock and am now sitting with my phone, trying to steel myself for what's next.

I take a deep breath and dial the familiar number. My Dad answers and I can breathe again.

"Hey Dad, how are things?"

"I'm doing alright. How 'bout you, son?"

"Good, really good actually. Thought I'd check in about Thanksgiving."

"Your brothers will be coming over Thursday morning, so I guess try to be here by then. Your mom's pretty busy, so, we'll have to do most of the work. And I don't know if there's anything planned for the rest of the weekend."

It's funny to me that he tells me this like it's just this one time. My mom's been too busy to care for us our entire lives, but he talks like if she could just free up her schedule, she'd be mother of the year. We've all being doing most of the work in this family since day one. Holidays and meals have been no exception.

"That's cool, I've got a project to work on with Katniss anyways."

"Katniss Everdeen?"

I laugh at the question. "Yeah Dad, how many Katnisses do you know? We're in the same class and have an assignment together."

"Huh, I hadn't realized you guys really knew each other." This pisses me off a little, the assumption that Katniss and I wouldn't be friends.

"Well, I'm getting to know her now," I say and I know I sound defensive. I try to recover, "So I guess I'll see you soon."

"Yeah, see you soon. Do you want to talk to your mother?" He asks like he already knows the answer, but that it's something he feels he should do anyway.

"Nah, that's cool, I'll see her soon too."

"Okay, take care of yourself, Peeta."

"You too, Dad. Bye."

* * *

><p>In this last little while leading up to Thanksgiving, Katniss and I have seen each other at least a couple of times a week. Sometimes we don't even really talk about our assignment. We talk about school, Oak Hill, what's going on in the world and sometimes we even venture into personal territory by talking about our families or pasts. Every time that happens, Katniss gives me the impression that she's sorry she shared so much and quickly shuts down. I try to say something reassuring during those times, something that says it's okay that she doesn't want to talk or divulge. In actuality, I can't get enough of her talking about herself, but I know it takes a lot for her to do and if she's ever going to trust me, it has to be in her own time.<p>

We sit together in our Thursday class now. There was no big deal made about this the first time it happened. She walked into the classroom, nodded a hello, sat in the seat beside me and didn't say another word. We had intended to meet that afternoon anyways, so when class was over, we walked silently to our spot in the student lounge and only started our conversation once we took our usual seats.

Katniss has also started accepting more of my food offerings without assuming the worst. Not every time we meet, but I do bring a little something, almost like an after thought, here and there. Sometimes it's supper, sometimes just a baked good, but it's always something I've made myself. Only I know that these things are made especially for her. Or at least I think she hasn't totally caught on yet.

Today we're meeting for the last time before heading home Wednesday night after classes. It's our usual Monday place and time. My heart beats uncontrollably as Katniss walks up to the table; I wonder if she'll always have this effect on me.

She looks...happy. "Hey, getting excited to go home?" I ask, grinning.

She actually beams at me and my breath catches in my throat. "Yeah, I can't wait to see Prim."

We chat idly for a couple minutes when we're interrupted by a deep, booming voice calling, "Catnip!" Both of our heads snap towards the direction of the sound and Katniss gets an unreadable look on her face.

I see Gale walking towards us. He's taller than me, broader than me and more built than me. He looks like the kind of guy who would've had virgins thrown at him had he lived in another time.

When he reaches our table, Katniss gestures to me and awkwardly says, "Uh, this is Peeta."

"Hey man," Gale replies, offering the standard guy handshake.

"Hey," I answer. There's tension in both of our greetings and another glance at Katniss tells me she feels it and is on edge too.

It's weird to be meeting the other guy currently in Katniss' life. The only other man she's spent time with since her father's death. I've come to think of our time together as this private , unique thing and yet here, right in front of me, is the living proof that there's someone else who has his own special piece of Katniss' world.

"When are you leaving again?" He asks, turning his attention entirely to Katniss.

"Wednesday, after school," she answers, sort of quietly.

"I'm gonna miss your Mom's leftovers this year," he says and I hate that they're talking about a history I don't share. The only history I have with Katniss is watching her, invisible, from afar.

"I can bring you back a care package, I know she'd love to put one together for you, it is the one day of the year we actually splurge after all. It's too bad you can't come back with me for at least a day or two. Last year was fun."

Care package? Last year? I've never felt more competitive with anyone than I do with this guy, right now, at this very moment.

"Yeah, maybe Christmas, who knows." He finally turns to me and asks, "You going back, Pete?"

"It's Peeta. Yeah, I'm going with Katniss Wednesday." I'm surprised at my own voice. It sounds deeper and has an edge to it that's far from its usual tone. Katniss' eyes widen a bit and she seems to be scrutinizing my face.

"Cool, cool," Gale replies casually, then turns back to Katniss, "Well have a good trip, Catnip, say hi to the fam for me and I'll see you next week, I guess."

"Yeah, will do, see ya Gale. I'll call you when I'm back and get you that food." She offers him a dazzling smile and I'm instantly jealous that the rare facial expression isn't meant for me.

They wave to each other and Gale walks away, barely giving a nod in my direction.

"Catnip?" I ask, trying to sound curious and not sarcastic.

"Yeah, the first time we met I was pretty freaked out that he wanted to talk to me so when he asked me my name I answered so quietly that he thought I said catnip. It just kinda stuck."

I'm not sure what to answer, I'm too busy picturing a young Katniss shyly navigating her first encounter with a handsome older boy. Such a different beginning than being thrown a soggy loaf of bread in the rain by a kid with money who doesn't even try to talk to you. I handled it so, so badly.

"It's a pretty sweet nickname," I finally answer when I realize she's looking at me and I haven't really said anything yet.

"Gale's a good guy." She says and I'm not sure if there's a question behind her statement or not.

"Yeah, it sounds like he's been a really good friend to you." I say, because it's the best answer I've got.

"He's just always been there...through everything." I'm feeling defensive and guilty again. Of course he has. There's nothing I can say, so I stay silent and watch the world outside the window instead.

After a few minutes, Katniss speaks almost inaudibly, but I hear and will remember every word.

"He's not the only one who's been there for me in a time of need. I've been lucky that way." She looks at me knowingly and smiles.

I want to respond, want to tell her that I'll be here for her, always, but I'm not ready. And she sure as hell isn't ready. So I smile at her with my biggest, warmest smile and hand her a slice of my homemade cinnamon raisin bread instead.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N – Okay lovelies, here's the next update. Thanks for all the reviews! More please!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 8<p>

KPOV

The drive with Peeta was a nice change of pace. I was used to taking the long-ass, impossibly complicated bus ride back every time I went home. The one that stops a million times along the way and turns a 3-hour ride into a 15-hour one depending on the bus you're able to get on.

What surprised me was his vehicle. I didn't know he had one, but certainly wasn't shocked when he revealed he did. I pictured some shiny, flashy model I couldn't pronounce, but instead it was an older minivan. He noted my arched eyebrow and explained that it had been his dad's before he and his brothers moved out and before his mom took over most of the out-of-town bakery business. He told me his mother took advantage of every opportunity to get out of Oak Hill she could, so she was the one with a shiny new van and his dad got a small used truck he could use around town.

Peeta said his mom hated the old van and hated that her son drove around in that "monstrosity." I was really starting to get how much of a bitch she really was. It was clear that image was what was most important to her. From what Peeta's told me, she doesn't seem to care about much else when it comes to her kids.

It got me thinking about those years after my dad died. How my mom checked out on us and totally left us to our own devices. It was awful. The being ignored, the feeling that she didn't care. It was a really dark time for our family. The way Peeta tells it, his mom has been that way his entire life. I can't imagine it. And I can't for the life of me understand how he could still be such a nice guy with a mother like that.

How does that even happen? Shouldn't he be a heroine addict or in jail or, at the very least, a total douchebag?

Peeta remains a colossal mystery to me. I just don't understand why he continues to be so kind and generous. It makes me suspicious, of course, but unless he has some nefarious plan I haven't figured out yet, he treats me this way with all sincerity.

I'm sure Gale thinks otherwise, thinks I'm out of my mind hanging out with a guy like Peeta, but sometimes I think mine and Gale's alienating attitude isn't working for either of us. We fuel each others' bitterness and I'm starting to wonder if maybe that's not who I want to be anymore. The thought of trying to be someone else though, now that's terrifying. Plus, I would never do anything to jeopardize my relationship with Gale. I just can't imagine a life without him in it.

My arrival was duly met with the high level of excitement I've come to expect from Prim. Every time I see her I can't believe how old she is, can't believe she's inching ever closer to adulthood. It's mind-blowing to me that my little duck is growing up and becoming an independent woman of her own. It makes me happy and sad all at once.

My mom was her usual guarded self. We've come a long way, my mom and I, but things are still tense between us. I keep telling myself that it's time to forgive and forget, but I can't quite pull it off. She pushes my buttons, always has, and the divide between us can feel overwhelming. So she treads lightly with me, especially during shorter visits.

By 10p.m. I'm tired and feel done with catching up. I say goodnight to Prim with a long, soul-soothing hug and head up to my familiar room.

The rooms in our modest house are small, so small that mine and Prim's rooms only contain a twin bed, a low dresser that doubles as a desk and a small chair each. Still, when you don't have much else, your own room is a pretty big deal. My shoulders relax a little bit once I'm in here, I feel lighter somehow.

I change into pyjama pants and a tank top, but keep a sweater and wool socks close to the bed. I remember the chill of this house well and know I'll likely wake up cold and need the extra layer later.

I'm just getting comfortable when I hear Prim opening her window, an odd move for the temperature outside. Moments later she's giggling and says, "It's the other window."

Something stirs inside and I instantly know what I'm hoping for, but won't admit it to myself. I look out my own window and sure enough, Peeta is standing below it. Smiling, he gives me a sheepish wave.

As I hear Prim close her window, I open mine. "What are you doing here?" I ask, then realize that I probably could have greeted him in a better way.

"Sorry," he says, "I know it's getting late. I just needed to get out of that house..."

"It's gonna be a really long weekend for you, Peeta, we've only been back a few hours."

He smiles at me with an unreadable expression. "Do you wanna grab a coffee or something? I'm not going to be able to sleep anytime soon anyway. The truck stop's still open."

Getting dressed again and going out with Peeta in Oak Hill at this time of night is not something I feel prepared to do. I don't have the energy to make small talk with people I haven't seen in a while in town, nor do I have the restraint to not tell anybody off if I notice them talking about or staring at us. Which they almost definitely will.

"I'm already in my pyjamas. Why don't you just come in, I'll make us something here." He nods and takes a step towards the window. "Through the door, Peeta, we're allowed to hang out after dark...we are adults after all." I chuckle, shaking my head.

I quickly put a bra back on and grab my sweater before leaving my room. Prim is standing in her doorway, one eyebrow arched, arms folded across her chest. She wants an explanation, but I don't know what to tell her.

"We've been hanging out a little bit, it's no big deal," I try to wave it off, but she seems unconvinced.

"I can't wait to hear the whole story. Tomorrow," she says with a smile. I roll my eyes, already dreading how that conversation is going to go. I sigh loudly too, for good measure. She says nothing, but is still smiling as she closes her door.

I momentarily worry about waking up my mom, it's such a small house, but then remember that she regularly takes any one of a handful of natural sleeping pills and consequently sleeps pretty heavily.

When I let Peeta in, I see that he's only wearing a thin, long-sleeved shirt with no jacket. "You must be freezing! Here," I say, grabbing a blanket off a nearby chair and handing it to him.

"Thanks," he answers and follows me into the kitchen. We stay silent for a few moments while I busily put some coffee on. I root around to see if I can find something to snack on, but the pickings are slim. We mostly just have ingredients for tomorrow's Thanksgiving dinner.

Before I can even say anything, Peeta says, "It's okay, I'm not hungry." I appreciate how he has this way of diffusing what could be difficult moments for me. It has made the task of becoming comfortable around him so much easier.

I don't know why, then, that I choose to make the moment an intense one, but the words come spilling out of my mouth before I can stop them, "One of these days though, I am going to feed you for a change." As I hear what I'm saying, I realize I'm not sure I'm just referring to the last three or four weeks. The words have been spoken seriously, with intent, like I'm accessing some ancient feeling I didn't know was still so raw.

I can feel Peeta's eyes on me, but can't meet them. Before the silence becomes unbearable, he says with equal intensity, "Katniss, you don't owe me anything."

His words create a much needed release of something I'm desperately holding onto. The owing. I have always felt like I owed him everything. The boy with the bread I barely knew who threw me a lifeline in the rain.

"I do, you know I do." He's already shaking his head before I finish speaking the words.

I need to get out of this serious moment I've backed myself into, but I don't know how anymore. I'm sure he can see me panicking, and so I stay silent and wait for him to diffuse the situation one more time like I know he will.

He touches my hand across the table. It's the first time he's ever touched me. My hand moves slightly, acknowledging a deeply ingrained impulse to avoid human contact, but I stop the instinct before actually pulling it away. I look at our hands, but I can feel Peeta looking at me. He holds his hand there and doesn't speak until I look up at him.

His face reveals a pleading look, a pained, desperate to be really heard expression I can't ignore. "No, Katniss, you don't. I've never thought or expected otherwise." And I believe him. I believe him and I want his hand to stay where it is and I want this to be the way we sit every time we're together. I will myself to say something meaningful, to convey this feeling that's building and taking hold.

But I'm not the girl who knows what to say, can't match his apt remarks. So, as usual, I say nothing. Peeta gives my hand a squeeze then lets it go and says, "So, I take it your return to Oak Hill is going better than mine?"

I stare fixedly for a moment at the place our hand were. He's done it again, brought us back from a place I don't know how to navigate. For this, he gets a warm, natural smile before I answer, "Sounds like, what happened?"

I like that he came here to talk to me. I'm not the warm and fuzzy type, so I'm more used to people seeking their comfort elsewhere.

"It's just so tense. I'm not that close with my brothers. They're older, I don't know, we didn't really have a lot to do with each other growing up. And my dad, he tries, but my mom...she's just so miserable and cold. I don't know why I even think things will ever be any different..."

"I'm sorry, Peeta," is all I can say.

"It's cool, I just have to get through tomorrow and then I can go back to doing my own thing. Do you have a deck of cards or something? I could really use a distraction." I smile again and nod.

Minutes later we're drinking coffee and playing Crazy Eights. We end up talking and playing cards until one o'clock in the morning when Peeta catches me yawning and decides to head back home. I go back to my room, pull on my wool socks and return to my bed, smiling.

* * *

><p>"Spill it," Prim demands as she hands me a cup of coffee and returns to prepping the turkey. I've slept in, it's already eleven o'clock, but Prim's insistence still feels like too much, too early.<p>

I groan, resting my forehead on one of my arms on the table while gripping my mug tightly with the other hand.

She doesn't wait for me to respond and instead begins babbling excitedly, "I knew it! I knew he liked you and I always thought you guys would get together. Well, it was always a toss up between him and Gale, but I knew it!"

"What are you even talking about, Prim? We're not together, we're just, I don't know, friends." _And you always knew he liked me, what?_

"Oh yeah right, Katniss, guys don't just show up at your house at night throwing rocks at your window when you're just friends. He's so into you! Do you like him?"

"Prim, I'm not fourteen years old anymore. I'm not going to ask him to the school dance or wear his jersey. We had an assignment together and now we hang out sometimes. It's not a big deal."

"You're so blind! Trust me, Peeta Mellark does not just want to be friends with you."

"Okay Prim, seriously, you don't even know him. How could you possibly know that?" I honestly had no idea. This was the first time Prim and I were even talking about Peeta, or liking boys for that matter. She knows it's not a comfortable subject for me, or even a relevant one up to now, so she never bothered bringing it up. Now she's on about ending up with Peeta or Gale and Peeta being into me. The whole conversation is suddenly a nightmare.

"You've seriously never noticed? He stares at you all the time! And I'm pretty sure he follows you or something because he's where you are, like, all the time. I was always so jealous of that...a guy like Peeta crushing on you and Gale as your best friend. You've always been so lucky."

My head is swimming with a thousand thoughts. The way Prim tells it, I've got it made when it comes to boys, but none of it makes any sense to me. It's true, Peeta has always just been there, but it somehow never occurred to me that he was following me or there on purpose. I always just assumed there was some unnameable force that kept crossing our paths as some sort of cosmic reminder.

It's taking me a long time to respond. I can't untangle the mass of revelations enough to form a coherent sentence or question. I can't even reply with a snide remark because I don't know what to make of any of it, let alone dismiss or mock it.

"I've always thought it's really sweet, the way he adores you from afar. It's so romantic, Kat, he's like your secret admirer! Except, less of a secret one now I guess..."

"Prim, stop! I doubt any of this is true and even if it is we're just friends, so stop freaking me out. I don't want things to be all weird tomorrow." I feel the need to escape. To run into the woods and think all of this through.

"What's tomorrow?" Now Prim's grinning from ear to ear. I think I liked it better when we didn't talk about guys this way.

"We're just getting together to put the final touches on our project. It's not like a date or anything." I respond with a pissy, impatient tone.

"You know, Kat, you're going to have to face the fact that guys are into you sooner or later. Two super cute guys, actually. If I were you, I'd make up your mind and go for it before you lose them both."

My eyes bug out at her. Who said anything about going for it? What the hell is going on here?

"I choose later," I say and continue with, "Are you and mom cool to get things started? I really need to just get outside for a while."

"Yeah, you have a lot of thinking to do." Prim responds with a wink.

I get changed and tear out of the house like I'm on a mission. And truthfully, I am. It's mission What-the-hell-was-Prim-talking-about-and-how-do-I-figure-it-out-without-everything-getting-awkward-and-weird-and-complicated. Otherwise known as, Mission Impossible.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N – You have all been so amazingly supportive – thank you! Keep the happy review train going!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 9<p>

PPOV

Yesterday was the predictable disaster I assumed it would be. My mom had too much to drink, making her comments especially acerbic. My brother's wife was in tears before the turkey hit the table. My dad kept finding convenient excuses to escape into the bakery or out back and my other brother actually just got up and left without a word before I served dessert.

I did my best to play peacemaker and make the day as normal as possible, but there was no saving the holiday from my mother. She was hellbent on making the whole thing as unbearable for the rest of us as it clearly was for her. It's such a weird spot to be in; constantly pining for her attention, then desperately needing an escape once you get it. It's never the kind of attention one wants from their mother. Well, who knows, there are a lot of people with messed up values out there.

Today I get to see Katniss though, so I'm finding myself, once again, jittery and longing. She's taking me to some place she knows about in the woods. She mentioned a lake and a little hunting shack. I'm a guy, so I find the whole idea of it sexy as hell. I can't deny that I've played out a few R-rated scenarios in my mind about what kinds of things could take place in a secret cabin in the woods by a lake. Realistically, it'll be more of the same: talking, working, more talking, and if I'm lucky, a few furtive glances causing blushing cheeks. And maybe I'll get to touch her hand again.

I'm torn about what to bring. I'd love to bake her something, but I don't want to deal with the questions and comments it would elicit from my family members. Instead, I walk through the bakery on my way out to see what we've got that's already made. I breathe a sigh of relief when I see my dad's the one minding the shop. My mom would never let me get away with taking something that could be sold.

"Hey Dad," I say casually.

"Hi Peeta. Heading out?"

"Yeah, I'm going to work on that project I was telling you about...with Katniss."

Without saying anything he turns to the display shelf behind him, grabs a small white box and fills it with an assortment of cookies, small tarts and squares. When he hands it to me, he smiles and says, "You kids have a good time."

I smile back, say my thanks and head towards the door, but before I reach it he says after me, "Did I ever tell you that I knew her mother when we were young, I mean, in high school she and I, we..." and suddenly my dad gets flustered in a way I've never seen before. I think he might be blushing.

"No, you never really mentioned you...no, I didn't know that."

"Well, it was a long time ago." He looks like his mind is drifting off to a far away place. A place where he's young and not yet married to my mother. A place where he flirts with girls like Katniss' mother, carefree and happy.

"I'll see you later, Dad." I can see that he's not really listening anymore, so I leave him to his musings and make my way to Katniss' house.

Prim is standing out front when I get there. She has a furry, miserable looking cat on a homemade leash. I can hear her talking to it as I approach.

"Oh hey, Peeta," she says, looking up with a big smile.

"Hi Prim. Nice cat you got there. He doesn't seem to be enjoying that leash though."

"He's used to running around loose, but he's been getting into trouble lately, so it's the leash or nothing at this point."

"Yeah, he looks like trouble," I say as I bend to give him a scratch. He looks at me with a disdainful look, but permits my touch just the same. "What's his name?" I ask as the cat repositions himself for optimal behind-the-ear scratching.

"It's Buttercup. You're a brave man, Peeta. He's not a very friendly cat."

"I like the challenge of winning the tough ones over."

I look over at Prim with a big grin, and to my surprise, she winks at me and says, "I'll bet you do."

I'm stunned into total silence. Wait, what did I say again? Weren't we talking about the cat? Why does she have that smug look on her face? Mercifully, Katniss appears so I don't have to respond.

"Hey, ready to go?" Then she looks back and forth between me and Prim and asks, "Did I miss something?"

Prim smiles and simply answers, "See you guys later," then she turns and walks her cat back towards the house.

I'm still floored by Prim winking at me. When did that kid get all grown up? I guess I missed it while I was paying all the attention to her sister.

It's a cold enough day to see our breath. We duck under some broken wires in the fence separating the town from the wooded area we're headed into. Katniss is unusually quiet as we walk. I've gotten used to a certain amount of silence when we're together, but she hasn't said a word since we started walking. It's also awkward to try and make eye contact, especially since she seems to be purposefully walking a few steps ahead of me. So, I follow her lead, both in direction and silence until I see her eyeing the white box I'm carrying in my left hand.

"From the bakery," I answer without waiting for the question. She nods and shifts her eyes from my direction quickly to avoid the possibility of meeting mine.

'Did you know my dad and your mom hung out together when they were teenagers?" I venture, hoping to get her talking.

"I didn't. Were they...?" She trails off, but I know what she's getting at.

"I don't know. He told me right after giving me these," I say, holding up the box, "and I think he kinda blushed, so maybe. He could've just had a crush on her, too, I guess." I say it casually, wondering out loud, but Katniss gets the strangest look on her face and still won't actually look at me.

Does the thought of it creep her out? Is it bothering her to even speculate because of her dad? I don't know how to read her expression, so I stop trying to talk for the time being.

Watching Katniss deftly navigate the grown over path is an incredible sight to behold. Her body moves easily, with a natural grace that reveals how at home she is among the trees. I'm nowhere near as elegant with my heavy step and obvious inexperience. She's kind enough not to point it out or maybe isn't even paying attention to me at all. Either way, I'm starting to think that maybe it's a bit of a blessing that she's walking ahead of me.

We come up to the small lake, if it can even be called that, and I can finally see the shack up ahead. Shack is definitely the right word for it. It falls way short of sexy, that's for sure.

"My dad and I used to come here. He taught me to swim in the lake. We'd use this place more in colder months," she explains.

I follow her through the door and take in the space. It's clearly been vacant for a while, but still feels cozy. There's a rustic fireplace along one wall with a bench in front of it. There's a small table and two old chairs in a corner and a shelf against another wall with an oil lamp on it, a few books, a wool blanket and a couple of lighters.

"Chilly? She asks. "We could build a fire."

"Yeah, sure." I answer while I set the pastry box down on the table where Katniss has deposited the backpack containing our school stuff.

"I'm gonna make some tea too, I think. Want some?"

"Sounds good." She still hasn't really made eye contact with me and I'm starting to think she's been purposefully staying further away from me than usual. I think back to the other night, trying to figure out if I did something to cause the distance. I did touch her hand. I had even surprised myself with the contact, but I couldn't help it, there are these moments with her when I just want to close the distance between us so badly. I gave in to an impulse that ended up feeling completely natural. And she seemed okay with it then, but maybe she's thought better of it since.

After another ten or fifteen minutes she finally sits down across from me. The fire she built has roared to life, creating an ambiance of crackling wood and flames, a warming glow and a rich, smoky scent. It's intoxicating. She sets the tea down in front of me and the earthy aroma of what I suspect is some kind of green tea blend is relaxing me already.

Katniss' eyes dart to the box of sweets. "Let me guess, you're thinking...lemon tart?" I ask.

"Pecan square," she grins, but still won't meet my eyes, and instead starts incessantly tapping the side of her mug with her fingernail.

"Katniss, is everything okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Why?" Her tone is unconvincing and now I really know something's up.

"Because you're about to tap a hole right through that mug."

She loosens her grip on the cup, but instead takes on an awkward looking protective posture.

"Did I do something?" I ask, more seriously.

Katniss looks at me for the first time today, startled. "Uh, no, what? Why would you think that?"

"I don't know, you just seem...off."

"It's probably just being back in Oak Hill. It's weird, you know?" she answers dismissively.

"You sure?"

She only nods her head and bites into her pecan square.

"Peeta?" She asks in a quiet voice after a few moments of chewing.

"Yeah?" I answer, my mouth now also full of a shortbread cookie.

"Did you know I was going to WVU when you decided to go there too?"

Her question is innocent enough, but I'm working hard not to choke on my cookie. I don't know how to answer her. I guess because I have no idea why she's asking. I can't bring myself to lie to her though, so I just go for straight up honesty. "Yeah, I did. I heard Prim talking about it with my dad in the shop."

She's quiet for a minute, looks thoughtful, then asks, "Is that _why_ you decided to go there?" She looks embarrassed to even be asking the question. Or maybe nervous, mixed with a hint of dread.

Here goes. "I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a factor." More like, the only factor.

She stays silent for another moment, then smiles and says, "I'm really glad we're at the same school." Then she pauses before finishing with, "Good choice."

We smile at each other, and the full weight of her words starts to sink in. She has no idea how much her reaction means. For the first time I feel like maybe the truth won't scare her away completely, like she might not bolt if she finds out the extent of the impact she's had on my choices over the last ten years.

A new-found confidence takes over and before I can stop it, I reach across the table to tuck a stray bit of hair back behind Katniss' ear. Once I do, I allow my fingers to wrap around, tucking them under the hair leading to her long, loose braid while I run my thumb over her cheekbone. We stay frozen in the moment. I can't be sure, but I think we both might be shaking a little bit. She cocks her head to the side just enough for me to feel the pressure it creates as she presses her cheek into my hand.

In the next breath, she breaks contact, opens her notebook and says, "Should we get started then?"

I'm in a bit of a haze, but before I can second-guess myself on what just happened I look over to see a blush in Katniss' cheeks and a small, shy smile I've never seen before playing on her lips.

"Yeah," I say, "we definitely should."


	10. Chapter 10

A/N – Voila, a new chapter. Here's where we take a bit of a turn you gang of super supportive readers you, so I hope you'll come with me!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

* * *

><p>Chapter 10<p>

KPOV

What the hell am I doing? I've barely bothered to give guys and boyfriends and the whole mess of it a single thought and now I'm playing late night card games and having afternoon cabin time with Peeta Mellark? We're touching hands? He's touching my face? What!

Our time in Oak Hill was surreal. I'd become so comfortable around him, felt so safe. Then Prim started talking about crushes and jealousy and making decisions. I thought for sure I'd never be able to look him in the eye again. But then there we were, his hand, warm and strong on my cheek and me, asking questions I never thought I'd ask out loud.

He's in Morgantown because of me, at least in part. It thrills me, confuses me and freaks me out all at once. I want to be with him and to never see him again. I'm so not meant for this kind of thing.

Our ride back was pretty uneventful. I was busy trying to sort out my shit, so was even less of a conversationalist than usual and Peeta opted not to push it, as he usually does. He normally waits for me to initiate our plans, but before I got out of his van he asked if I wanted to come over for dinner on my next night off. I said yes, because it's Peeta and because we hang out together fairly regularly at this point, but the invite feels loaded and I'm already stressed about it.

To make matters worse, I've got my end of semester appointment with my student adviser, Haymitch Abernathy, today. He's a miserable man who looks way older than he probably is and who reeks of booze. Like, all the time. It turns out he's from Oak Hill, so at least we have that in common. I have no idea why he stays in a job he clearly loathes. I guess though if he can earn a living not doing a whole lot and the powers that be just ignore his drinking, it's probably worth it.

His office is one of the small ones tucked away in the far off corner of one of the administration buildings. There's a single hard, wooden chair outside his door for waiting students.

Fifteen or twenty minutes late, he opens his door wide and invites me in with a booming voice saying, "Katniss! My favourite student. Come on in."

This is sarcasm, of course, because I'm pretty sure he hates me.

I enter the room, ass sore from the awful chair, and am greeted by the familiar stale liquor stench that is ever-present in Haymitch's vicinity.

"I've got some bad news for you, darling" he says. His frequent use of various terms of endearment pisses me off. And, I'm pretty sure is totally against university policy, but since he's the man who's the direct link to most of my scholarships and financial aid, I don't make a big deal about it.

"Oh yeah? You transferring to another school?" I ask, matching his mocking tone.

"Ha, you're a funny one Miss Everdeen. No, it's about your funding. Times are tight and the foundation you were getting your scholarship from couldn't stick it out. They're broke." I can tell from the sound of his voice that he's not kidding around.

"Seriously? What about the bursaries?"

"Yeah, your bursaries are probably still alright, but they'll only get you about a quarter of what you need for the year and the foundation won't even be able to cover next semester's instalment of your scholarship."

"But my financial aid...I don't think I can get anymore...I'm fully extended." The panic is setting in now. I've only got one year left after this one. I've spent so much money here already. And I'll need to help pay for Prim's schooling as soon as I graduate. She wants to be a doctor which means I'll need a real job to get her the money she needs. I can't just flip burgers for the next ten years and expect to cover all the bills.

"Take next semester off, work a little, come back next year." Haymitch states casually, like he's suggesting a picnic in the park.

His cavalier attitude sets me right off. "I can't take a semester off, Haymitch! It's a little more complicated than that. I have to graduate and make some real money. I can't just...

take a break!" I'm practically yelling at him, but he's barely reacting.

"Well, I've explored all your options and unless you can land yourself a husband by January, sweetheart, you're s.o.l." He replies, matter-of-factly.

"What? What does getting married have to do with it? I don't need a man to take care of me."

"And I'm sure the men of the world are thankful as hell for that, darlin', but you do need a husband to live in the new subsidized family residence the university is opening. And to get your hands on the generous bursaries that come along with it."

"That's the only option? I have to be married or I can't graduate? That's such backwards b.s.!"

Haymitch chuckles. "I like you, sweetheart, you're a feisty one."

My response comes out as more of a chortle than anything.

"Look," Haymitch continues, sounding bitter, "I hate this high-moral, what's-best-for-public-perception bullshit as much as you do, but this is where we're at."

"So there's nothing I can do?" I'm already sounding defeated. And I hate it.

"Well now, there might be something we can do if you're willing to get...creative."

"I might be. What are we talking about?"

"Could you find some poor sucker willing to help you out? I could make sure your paperwork says what it has to if you can play the part of the happy wife until you graduate."

"This is crazy...I..." I'm at a loss. Pretending to be married to finish school? The whole thing is ludicrous and I can't believe what I'm hearing.

"You think about it, puddin', and get back to me soon so I get you both in for next semester. It's the best I can do. You play the game and I'll do my part."

I leave Haymitch's office feeling like I've been hit by a truck. I don't know how to process the information I've been given. Without my main scholarship and without being able to get anymore financial aid, I can't finish school. But the alternative...it's unfathomable.

Still, I can't stop myself from considering the idea. Gale's out. He has to live at home to help his mom with his siblings and besides, he'd never be able to pay the part of the rent we'd owe at the new residence. Which leaves, Peeta.

How could I ask something like that? What would I say? And what would we tell people? Living together is a big deal. Sure, we're friends, but this is a whole other thing. No, it's not worth thinking about. It's crazy.

* * *

><p>By the time Thursday rolls around, I'm beyond on edge. I've had nightmares the past three nights. One was about Prim and I starving to death behind Peeta's family's bakery. Another was about me telling Prim she couldn't go to medical school and her just vanishing, leaving me in the woods alone endlessly searching for her. The third was about the president of the university taking away my diploma and banishing me from the graduation ceremony in front of hundreds of people.<p>

When I sit down beside Peeta in class, I don't say anything and instead rest my forehead on my folded arms on top of the table we share.

He puts a hand on my back as he leans over and asks, "Hey, what's going on?"

I don't answer immediately and he keeps his hand where it is until I do.

"I'm just tired," I finally say.

His face falls a bit when he says, "Maybe we should have dinner some other time."

I shake my head. As much as the vibe of this dinner feels different and as much as that terrifies me, I dread the thought of disappointing Peeta and then going back to my apartment to worry about how I'm going to keep paying for one.

"Okay," he says, looking relieved, "do you want to just come back there with me after class? You can just chill out while I'm cooking."

This time I nod and go back to my previous head down position until Professor Trinket comes in and chirps, "Posture is everything Miss Everdeen. Up and alert please, up and alert!"

I raise my middle finger up towards her back as she's walking past me and resume the position.

When class finally ends, I can't be sure I've succeeded in retaining consciousness for all of it.

I grab my stuff and follow Peeta wordlessly out the door, off campus and towards his nearby neighbourhood.

His apartment is as I remember it, only now there are a few new paintings on the wall. The one that catches my eye shows a shadowy figure walking away into the darkness. It may just be my favourite one yet.

I follow his lead and get cozy on the couch, across from the chair he sits in. "Want some coffee or tea or something?"

"Either," I respond simply, thinking that the caffeine boost will do me some good.

As he stands to make his way to the kitchen, Peeta reaches behind him, grabs a blanket off the chair and tosses it to me.

"Here," he says,"it gets drafty in here."

I say my thanks and busy myself spreading the blanket out over my legs as I curl them up towards me and rest my head on the arm of the couch.

It's the last thing I remember until I hear a familiar voice coaxing me awake, "Katniss... Katniss, dinner's ready."

I open my eyes to find Peeta crouching on the floor in front of me, his hand reaching around and rubbing my back gently as he whispers my name and tells me to get up.

"What time is it? How long have I been sleeping?"

"It's just after six, so, a couple of hours."

"I'm sorry Peeta, I -"

"It's okay," he interrupts, "I was busy in the kitchen. The food is ready though. Do you want it now or I can just keep it warm if you want to wait a bit."

"Yeah, food sounds great, let's eat now."

Peeta has prepared another incredible and homey looking meal that includes ham, squash and cornbread. I dive in without a lot of prompting and am soon full and relaxed. Peeta has such an enviable knack for comfort. I'm happy to so often be the recipient of his natural ability.

He's talking about his classes next semester. Any moment he'll ask me about my own and I'll have to confess that I don't even know if I'll be in school next semester. I hate the thought of his pitying look and the offer of help or money he'll no doubt give.

"How about you? What's your schedule like in the new year?"

"Uh, I'm not sure, it's complicated," I offer, hoping the vague reply will suffice.

"What do you mean?" No such luck.

I start to tell Peeta about the scholarship and how I haven't worked out what I'm going to do yet. He listens without saying anything and manages not to look like he's feeling sorry for the destitute girl who's about to become a college drop out.

"There are seriously no other options?" His face is a mask of seriousness and concentration, like he's trying to work out an overlooked solution.

"Basically, I mean, there aren't any other options that make any damn sense."

"What are they?"

"What are what?"

"The ones that don't make any sense?"

I take a deep breath and begin explaining the preposterous idea that is the new family residence and the tuition bursaries that come with it.

With a face that's as serious as I've ever seen it and in a tone that suggests his mind is already made up, Peeta looks me directly in the eye and states, "Let's do it."


	11. Chapter 11

A/N – Thanks for your super encouraging reviews! I honestly was really nervous about how everyone would feel about this, I know it's asking some serious suspension of disbelief, so I thank you for being so supportive of my choices!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 11<p>

PPOV

"Peeta, you can't be serious." Katniss says, looking at me with an expression that tells me she's both shocked and a little horrified. And clearly has no idea what I would do to protect her. "It's an insane idea."

"Is it? Look, you said we wouldn't have to really be married, right? At least not at first if Haymitch can take care of the paperwork to get us in in the first place. So all we really have to do is live together. It'll be just like we're roommates." I don't know if I'm being selfish or selfless. Either way, I need her to see that we can do this, that she doesn't have to lose anything.

"Roommates who have to pretend to be getting married! It's kind of a big deal. I mean, we wouldn't be able to tell most people the truth...they'll really have to believe we're together." She's shaking her head as she's talking which I'm pretty sure she doesn't even realize she's doing.

"How hard could it be? It's not like couples are so much different from everyone else. We already hang out, now we'll just go back to the same place at night. We'll put off the marriage certificate thing for as long as we can and then we'll worry about that then. It'll buy us some time to figure out our next move is at least. We can make this work."

"Why?" she asks simply.

"Because you'll have to quit school otherwise. Isn't that an even crazier option?"

"No, I mean, why would you do this? You'd have to give up your apartment, pretend to be my husband...what's in it for you?"

Shit. Why am I doing this? I'm doing it because it's what I've always done. Except she doesn't really know the extent of all of that. Doesn't know the extent of how I actually feel about her. In my mind, she deserves this degree more than anyone and doing this is a perfectly justifiable thing. Of course, I'm biased and would stop at nothing to make her happy and safe.

She's looking at me with the most skeptical expression, like she's sure there's something I'm not saying, something that she needs to protect herself from.

So, even though I swore to myself I'd keep things honest, I decide to downplay the 'I've been in love with you most of my life' part and emphasize the other side of things that have been on my mind lately. "Being home for Thanksgiving...it was a nightmare. I don't want to owe my parents, you know? Don't want them to guilt me into working at the bakery when I graduate. The less I take from them, the better. If I can subsidize my housing and get a couple bursaries to take down my tuition costs, I'll have that much less contact with my mother. There'll be less for her to have over me."

"She's really awful, huh?" Katniss asks contemplatively.

"Yeah, she really is."

We're both quiet for a moment, each of us lost in our own heads considering the gravity of all that we're talking about.

"Are you sure?" Her eyes are boring into me in a way they never have before.

"Definitely," I reply in the most convincing voice I can muster.

"I'll call Haymitch tomorrow so we can meet with him and get the paperwork started."

"Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"It'll be okay. You'll be okay."

She lets out the breath she's been holding. "Okay."

* * *

><p>"So this would be the poor sucker we talked about then?" Haymitch says as he ushers us into his office, checking the hallway for signs of life before closing the door behind us.<p>

Katniss wasn't kidding about the smell. It's reminiscent of a rank frat house the day after an especially well-stocked keg party.

"I'm surprised you remember any of our conversations at all," Katniss fires back.

"There's that sass I know and love." The smile he offers is more of a mildly amused sneer.

"I'm Peeta," I say, breaking the stand off.

"Haymitch," he replies, not offering a hand to shake or even anything further by way of an introduction. "And you'll be playing the role of the husband in this little scenario of ours, I guess?"

I nod. "What do we need to know about the arrangement? Do we make-up our own details or will you take care of that? What are the expectations around timing for the marriage certificate-"

"Whoa, whoa. Slow down, kid, you're killing my buzz."

"We just want to make sure we do this in the best way possible," Katniss chimes in.

"Look, I've got some influence in the Registrar's office, enough to get you in as an engaged couple intending to marry before September. We'll see what we can do then about keeping you in there. If you're asking my advice though, don't get caught. President Snow doesn't mess around. This is his swan song initiative and if you make a mockery of it, he won't hesitate to expel you both. He'll be paying attention, so you'll really have to sell it. Don't screw this up."

"How would we get caught?" I ask, legitimately wondering how we could go wrong.

"Well, let's see...don't make-out with other people around campus, don't tell people you're not really engaged...it's not rocket science kiddos, just act in love."

Katniss and I look at each other then, communicating silently that it may be harder than it sounds. Our friendship is new. We're still getting to know each other. She's only just starting to be genuinely comfortable around me. It really could all go terribly wrong.

I grab her hand, give it a squeeze and let go before she has a chance to react. "We're in."

She looks at me, that same skeptical expression creeping back over her face, but nods in agreement anyway. "For better or for worse," is all she says.

Haymitch goes on to explain that we can move in during the week between New Year's and the start of the new semester.

"Do you have a preference for what I write down as your expected wedding date?" He asks.

Katniss looks panicked by the question and I'm guessing she's at her limit for this overwhelming situations. "Surprise us," I say, wanting to relieve her of having to worry about it.

We both stay relatively silent until the meeting comes to an end, us having all the information we need for now.

We give our thanks to Haymitch and head towards the outside doors. Before Katniss can open it, I say under my breath, but loud enough for her to hear, "Show time." Then I take her hand in mine and we walk through the doors, making our first official debut as an engaged couple. At least on paper, anyway.

* * *

><p>"So, how did I do it?" I ask. We're sitting at Black Bear Burrito, grabbing a bite before Katniss heads to work.<p>

"How did you do what?" She asks back, stuffing a chip covered in a huge glop of guacamole into her mouth.

"Propose. People will ask, you know."

Katniss squirms in her seat, obviously not ready to discuss or joke about the situation.

It looks like she's not going to answer me, so I continue, "Maybe when we got back from Thanksgiving, in a quiet, private way."

"Private seems about right," she says, avoiding my eyes. I can see though that not all the guac has made it inside her mouth and there's an obvious trace of it at the edge of her lip. I can't help myself, I reach out and wipe it away with my thumb. She's surprised, but doesn't move away from the contact.

"I guess I have to get used to this, right?"

"There are worse things to get used to," I smirk.

"Peeta, this is really serious, you could get kicked out of school if anyone finds out. I would feel so-"

"We're not going to caught. And I know what I'm getting myself into, you don't have to feel bad or guilty about anything." I can see that my words haven't helped, she's still wincing a bit. "And anyways, this is exactly the kind of thing I need to distance myself from my mom.

She arches an eyebrow and a hint of a smile crosses her face. "_Exactly_ _this_ kind of thing?"

"Okay, well, maybe not this exact scenario, but you know what I mean." The only purpose this exact situation serves is my own personal agenda of getting closer to Katniss.

She's back to looking thoughtful and less worried when she says, "Thank you, Peeta."

"You're welcome," I answer, without a moment's pause.

* * *

><p>Through a series of emails and conversations over the next few days Katniss and I agree on a general plan of hanging out together publicly and introducing a mild amount of PDA into our interactions for good measure. Having an awkward conversation about whether or not we'd kiss in front of other people was not the way I would have liked to approach our next level of intimacy. We decided against it for now, it being too weird for us to consider doing anytime soon, at least in this way. Besides, there are plenty of couples who don't kiss in public, so it shouldn't be too unusual.<p>

When we finish our final presentation in Urban Geography, Professor Trinket claps her hands like a small child and trills, "Well done, well done. Brilliant fieldwork, Mr. Mellark and Miss Everdeen, the colours in your presentation material are darling! What a lovely team you two make!"

"That's why I'm marrying her," I say, seeing an opportunity to start spreading the news. Katniss forces the look of shock off her face enough to plaster it with one of the worst fake smiles I've ever seen. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.

There's a moment of stunned silence. A few of the girls gasp, some eyebrows go up, some people are looking back and forth between us and a few pairs start murmuring amongst themselves.

Then Professor Trinket claps some more and proclaims, "And to think I had a hand in bringing you two together...beautiful!"

I'm feeling pretty good about my clever engagement slip until Katniss and I get outside. She grabs onto the sleeve of my jacket rather then my hand and pulls me around the corner of the building where there are fewer people around.

"What the hell was that?" She demands.

"What the hell was what?"

"_That's why I'm marrying her?_"

"We said...we agreed...I don't get why you're so mad."

"You just blurted it out to our whole class!"

"Yeah, that's the idea Katniss. People are supposed to believe we're getting married."

She still looks really pissed, but doesn't fire back. Instead she crosses her arms, sighs and avoids my eyes.

"It's just...it's really weird. I don't want to look like some stupid-"

I take both of her hands in mine. "You don't. I wouldn't do that. But it's what we've decided to do, so we've got to do this, no matter how weird it is sometimes. It's only going to get more complicated from here." And then for the first time, I pull her into my arms and envelop her in the warmest possible embrace. I feel her stiffen, then immediately relax into my chest. I tighten my arms around her in response and we stay that way for longer than a hug should be.

Before I let her go I ask, "You sure you want to do this?"

Katniss nods against my chest and adds, "It's all I can do."

I kiss the top of her head lightly before pulling away. She doesn't react, so I'm not sure she even felt it.

We look at each other and smile, but then something behind me catches her eye. She side-steps me to get a better view and before I can ask her what's wrong she's already moving away from me and calls, "Gale? Gale!"


	12. Chapter 12

A/N – Here you go all. I know I write this every time, but thanks so, so much again for your reviews and support and for reading this little story of mine. You're making this a crazy fun hobby for me!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

* * *

><p>Chapter 12<p>

KPOV

"Gale, wait!" I'm running like an idiot trying to catch up to him, leaving Peeta behind back by the administration building.

The moment shifted so quickly, I'm feeling disoriented as I reach him. One minute I'm hugging Peeta, totally into our "beat the system" plan and the next I'm seeing Gale, seeing him mad as hell, eyes fixed on Peeta and I.

I grab his jacket and stop him, "Seriously, wait." Why does he have to look like I just slapped him in the face? It's not like we're together.

I sigh, knowing it's more complicated than that. I know there's an unspoken reason why I was dreading telling him about the situation in the first place. We may have never actually talked about the nature of our relationship, but that has everything to do with my own fear and denial and nothing to do with his feelings for me.

If only I were brave enough to confront my own feelings. To actually consider Peeta or Gale as anything more than people I like to hang out with.

"When were you gonna tell me? You didn't say a word the last time I saw you."

"Gale, it's not what you think-"

"And what is it that I think, Katniss? Huh? That you and pretty boy are a thing now, does that sound about right?"

Gale's been annoyed with me before, frustrated and mildly pissed even, but the look on his face goes beyond anger. He looks...hurt.

I don't know how to deal with hurt. Anger, maybe. Hurt, forget it. I don't know where to begin, so I don't say anything.

"You should've just told me."

"I know, Gale, it's just...it's complicated and I-"

"Well, maybe you can let me know when it gets less complicated."

He walks away from me and I feel his absence immediately. It's the first time I'm fearful of him never speaking to me again. I want to go after him, but I don't know what to say. I want to tell him about the scholarship and about the residence, but I'm not convinced it's the best plan. But then, telling him Peeta and I are engaged doesn't seem like a reasonable course of action given his state of mind either.

So, I just stand there, watching him get further and further away from me. I feel a hand on my shoulder after a moment and know it's Peeta.

"I'm sorry," is all he says.

* * *

><p>I've been trying to pack up my stuff, but I'm not sure what I should bother bringing. Peeta will bring most of his apartment's contents with him and his things are much nicer and newer than most of mine. Other than my old desktop and clothes, most things will probably just go back to goodwill where I got them from in the first place.<p>

He and I are travelling home together for Christmas break tomorrow. I'll have to tell my mom and Prim about the new arrangement, aka engagement, but I haven't decided how I'm going to do that yet. We've got a few weeks to be at home before we come back to move and I just don't want to deal with a barrage of questions for the entire time. Peeta's not even going to bother telling his parents. He says they never call or visit or send him anything, so what's the point? He just gets a monthly deposit in his account for bills and that's that. I wonder if the engagement were real if he'd tell them, but the possibility that he wouldn't makes me too sad to think about.

I've left a few messages on Gale's cell. I hate that he won't be in Oak Hill over the holidays. At least there I'd likely be able to corner him or track him down and have a few minutes alone to explain. He gets so stubborn. Who knows when he'll cool down enough to hear what I have to say.

Peeta's been surprisingly silent about the whole thing. I guess he just doesn't want to get in the middle of it, but it's made his thoughts on my relationship with Gale impossibly hard to read. I've thought about bringing it up a couple of times, but there's never been a good segue and it seems a weird thing to just start talking about randomly.

Soon Peeta will have all the time and opportunity to ask me anything he wants anyways. It's kind of hard to avoid when you're under the same roof.

* * *

><p>Peeta's out of the van to carry my bag before I can stop him. When we get to the door of my house he asks, "Do you want me to come inside with you...when you tell them?"<p>

I hadn't thought as far as him being in the same room as my mother when I break the news. I guess it would make sense for him to be around over the holidays, spending time with my family, but it still feels like a strange thing that wouldn't necessarily be happening naturally.

"No, that's okay, but I guess you should come over...at some point."

He's looking at me in that intense, scrutinizing way he does sometimes, like there's an answer he's trying to find hidden somewhere on my face.

Finally, he answers, "I'll give you some time and give you a call next week to talk about it. Sound good?"

I nod without answering out loud. Peeta hands me my bag and then pauses to look at me again before moving. For the first time I start to get nervous about him trying to kiss me. The way we're standing in front of my door, facing each other, there's an expectancy that hasn't been there before.

He reaches out slowly and wipes away a snowflake that has landed on my cheek, pausing like he did once before to brush across my skin with his thumb.

"Goodnight, Katniss."

He turns and starts to walk away and I'm...disappointed.

* * *

><p>"Prim, we need to talk. Come to my room before bed." I'm speaking in a hushed voice while we finish the dishes. She eyes me suspiciously, but nods.<p>

I chickened out on telling my mom, deciding instead to tell Prim the truth for the extra support when I do. I hate lying to Prim anyways. I feel like there were so many times when I had to, to protect her from the brutal realities of life, and while protecting her remains one of my biggest concerns, the lying never feels right.

Once we're in my room with the door closed, I start to get nervous about telling her. She's my little sister, but she's so much more intuitive than I am when it comes to relationships and love and feelings.

"Which one?" She asks, gushing like, well, a girl.

"What?"

"Who'd you choose? It's Peeta, isn't it?"

"What? No, Prim, listen-"

"Huh, so Gale, eh? Well, he is really hot. I get it."

"Oh my god, Prim, stop!"

She doesn't say anything, just looks stunned. Her face quickly turns to concern when she sees the serious look on my face. This is, after all, one of the strangest things I've ever had to tell her.

"For now it's neither, okay? I really have to tell you something."

She nods, staying silent while I tell her about the scholarship, Haymitch, the residence and what Peeta has agreed to do to keep me in school.

"Nobody can know it's not real, Prim, no one. You're the only person I'm telling."

"What about Gale?"

"I don't know, I haven't figured that out yet."

"Wow, Kat, this is all...so romantic!" Her face is bright with excitement again.

"Romantic? Prim, come on. It's a way to get around the system so I can graduate, that's it."

"No, Katniss, you come on. Peeta is risking everything to help you and the two of you will be living together pretending to be engaged? That's hot. Even you have to see that."

"It's not hot, it's practical. And Peeta has his own reasons for doing this, it's not just about me." I sigh. I can't deal with this. My education is on the line, Prim's future is on the line; I can't be throwing it all away for the distracting, likely passing, affection of some guy.

Still, a voice I'm barely in control of deep down inside is trying to scream _but it's not just some guy, it's Peeta._

"Just, help me out when it comes to mom and everyone else, okay? Everyone's gotta believe it's all real."

"Jesus, Kat, will you wake up and smell the hormones? Peeta is into you. You guys'll be a real couple in no time. You don't have to worry about making anything believable."

"Go to bed, Prim."

"Fine, but you'll see. And Katniss?"

"Yeah?"

"This is a really good thing. I'm happy for you."

With that Prim heads off to bed, leaving me with too much to think about while trying to fall asleep. Again.

* * *

><p>"Stop! Okay, for real, for real this time. Stop." I'm laughing freely, hysterically. It feels good. Peeta has just finished pummelling me with his third round of snow balls. I can feel the icy water dripping down my back at this point. My most loathed of winter feelings. Peeta thinks this is hilarious, naturally, and so continues to do it despite my protest.<p>

Peeta and I are killing time before going into my house. We've walked around the block and are now hanging out in my front yard before heading in.

"You're safe for now, Everdeen, but there's a whole lotta winter left," he grins. His smiling face is fast becoming one of my most favourite things. I can count on Peeta's good-natured grin like I can count on a walk in the woods or a surprise email from Prim to make me feel better. I smile back at him big and wide.

"So, it went okay? With your mom?"

He's joining us for Christmas Eve dinner. His first introduction to my mother as my fiance.

"Yeah, I mean, we don't really talk much, so it's not so farfetched that I'd be with someone without her knowing about it until now. I don't know...she didn't say a whole lot, she just wanted you to come over and spend some time here."

I didn't realize until saying it out loud how much it bothers me that my mother barely reacted to the news that her oldest daughter is getting married. Is our relationship so non-existent that we're not even going to be able to share life's normal, happy moments together?

"I think you might have to tell your parents though, she may end up mentioning it to someone in town and it could get back to them."

"Yeah, I know. I sorta figured that would happen. I just want to wait until we're ready to leave. Trust me, you don't want to suffer through a dinner at my house, not yet. We'll worry about that at like, Easter, or something."

"Deal. Let's take it one mom at a time," I reply with a chuckle.

"So, before we go inside, I thought I'd give you your Christmas present."

"Christmas present? Peeta, I didn't-"

"No, I know, it's okay. It's uh, it's in my van."

He disappears for a moment inside his van and comes back out with a large square package wrapped in brown paper and twine. It's quite obviously a painting. When I peel back the paper I'm touched to find Peeta's uncanny rendering of the hunting cabin in the woods. He's painted it in the spring with buds and blossoms and greenery everywhere. The lake is in the background glistening against the sun. The contrast of the ageing shack against the teeming life of the forest makes it beautiful and a little depressing all at once. I love it.

"It's incredible, Peeta, really, it's amazing. Thank you." Without hesitating, I throw my arms around him, enjoying the comfort that I find there.

"That's not all," he says, close enough to my ear for me to feel his warm breath against my skin.

"But the painting, it's more than enough..."

"Well, It's nothing really, it's just, if we're supposed to be engaged and all, you're still missing..." He pulls a small black box out of his pocket, "This."


	13. Chapter 13

A/N – Thank you, thank you, thank you for your beautiful, wonderful, encouraging reviews. What a lovely bunch of readers you are! Don't stop ;)

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

* * *

><p>Chapter 13<p>

PPOV

Katniss has been standing motionless and silent, staring at the ring for at least five minutes. It's made of a light-coloured braided wood. There's a couple not too far from Morgantown that makes them from the trees on their property. I knew as soon as I saw them that they'd create the perfect ring for Katniss.

"I'm not sure what to say," she finally says. "It's a really pretty ring, Peeta."

I'm relieved she hasn't hit me or yelled at me, or worse, laughed at me. "You should try it on. I gave it my best guess, but it can't be re-sized, so..."

She nods her head, but doesn't move, so I take off my gloves, take the box from her hand, remove the the ring and take her hand. I take off her mitten and slip the ring on her finger. It slides down easily and I let out the breath I've been unknowingly holding.

"It's perfect," she says and I don't know if she's talking about the fit or the ring or the fact that I've given it to her.

The most unexpected thing happens next. She leans in, placing her arms around my neck, and gives me the softest, sweetest kiss.

She pulls back, looking almost as surprised by her actions as I am. This time though, I don't miss my chance. I cup her face with both hands and gently pull her back in again. Her cheeks are cold and I can feel the frozen tip of her nose against my face. It's a sharp contrast to the hot breath I feel against my lips and the warmth of her mouth opening slightly with mine.

I feel like I'm in a dreamlike state as we finish our kiss. Years and years of wondering, waiting and fantasizing to create this one surreal moment. I'm not sure I ever really believed it'd get to this point, the place where I'd be holding Katniss in my arms, kissing her, my ring on her finger.

The moment passed, we're now standing quietly, maybe even a little awkwardly, wondering what to say or do. Katniss is smiling shyly, but I've got a big ol' stupid grin on my face I can't wipe away.

"I guess we better go in," she says and I nod, still unable to form words. I pick up my gloves and her mitten and follow her into the house.

We're greeted by Prim first. "Making an honest woman outta my sister, huh Peeta?" She winks at me and it's less surprising this time.

"Yeah, I guess so," I answer with a chuckle.

"I follow Katniss and Prim into the kitchen where their mom is just taking some kind of casserole out of the oven.

"Hi Ms. Everdeen."

"I think we're a little past Ms. Everdeen at this point, don't you? Call me Laurel."

I think she's trying to be welcoming, but still I'm suddenly feeling very nervous. "Yeah, I guess we are...thanks for having me over for dinner, Laurel."

"Of course," she smiles. "You'll be family soon enough, after all."

I spend a moment really looking at Katniss' mom. There's far more of a resemblance between her and Prim, but I find the odd Katniss feature in her face. She's an attractive woman though does bear the telltale signs of one who's struggled, ageing them beyond their years.

I help Katniss set the table. The house is modest but feels homey. It's a nice change from the sterile showroom-like quality that my parents' house takes on.

When we sit down to eat, Prim starts talking about school and her impatience about getting out of Oak Hill to start working towards a medical degree.

"What is it that you're studying, Peeta?" Laurel asks.

"Business, well, entrepreneurship specifically."

"Will you take over your parents' bakery then?"

"I hear you're one hell of a baker," Prim chimes in, grinning. I think Katniss blushes a bit at the revelation that she's talked to Prim about my baking, but she's got her head down closely examining her salad, so it's hard to tell.

"No actually, I'm hoping to open my own art studio, with lessons and a gallery...maybe an art supplies shop attached too."

Katniss' mom arches an eyebrow in surprise, "Oh, that's, uh, interesting..."

"Is that one of your paintings Katniss just brought in the house?" Prim asks.

"Yeah," I answer, now the one blushing a little bit.

"Did it come with that ring on her finger?"

Katniss lets out a choking cough, "Prim! What the hell?!"

"Katniss!" Her mother exclaims in surprise.

Their series of reactions makes me want to laugh out loud, but I'm thinking that's probably not a good idea given the palpable tension between the women in front of me.

"What? He liked it, he put a ring on it. Show us the goods, that's all I'm saying." Prim teases.

Katniss sighs and holds out her hand to both her mother and Prim.

"It's certainly different," Laurel says.

Prim's eyes widen as she stares at the simple ring that already looks like it's always been on Katniss' finger.

"Wow, Peeta, you could not have chosen something more perfect. It's really beautiful," Prim states more earnestly than anything I've heard her say up to now.

"Thanks, yeah, I thought so," I answer.

Then Prim turns to Katniss, beaming, "You are one lucky girl, sis."

Katniss turns to me and smiles shyly, an expression and gesture I'm still getting used to. I smile back, getting a little red at the memory of our kiss. I would have loved to have had some time to reflect on it, sort out what it might mean before having to switch into the make believe mode we're in now. Trying to figure out how our relationship is actually developing throughout the show we have to put on for other people is going to be annoyingly confusing.

We spend the rest of the meal making small talk about various neutral subjects – the weather, Christmas traditions, books – interspersed with me complimenting the meal and engaging in witty banter with Prim while Katniss stay relatively quiet.

Prim is so different from Katniss it's hard to believe they're sisters. Prim is clever and sweet with a great sense of humour. Katniss is a little more sarcastic and rough around the edges. She's fierce and natural, determined and self-assured. She's given Prim the gift of getting to be carefree while she's taken on the various high-pressured adult roles needed to keep it all together. Katniss is an old soul, Prim is a young, vivacious one.

Prim would be the perfect sister-in-law, if this whole engagement business were an actual thing. If that ring I put on Katniss' finger meant as much to her as it does to me.

By a little after 9pm I'm standing at the door, getting ready to leave. Prim and Laurel have said their goodnights and have wandered off to some other part of the house, leaving Katniss and I alone.

It doesn't feel like the right time to talk about the kiss, but I definitely don't want to act like it didn't happen either.

"Katniss, I-"

"Peeta, your gifts were really...just, thanks again. It's been a weird and long night though. Can we maybe just talk tomorrow or something?"

"Yeah, sure," I say, feeling a little insecure about her shutting down any form of conversation.

"Merry Christmas, Peeta," she says before kissing me softly on the cheek.

"Merry Christmas, Katniss."

* * *

><p>"Can I talk to you guys?"<p>

It's the day before we head back to Morgantown and I know I can't avoid telling my parents about the move and supposed engagement any longer.

"I've got to get to a client's place in the city, so I've only got a few minutes," my mother says curtly, barely looking up from the newspaper.

"Yeah, it uh, it won't take long." I take a deep breath and look at my dad who nods at me encouragingly. "I've, uh, I've asked...what I mean is Katniss Everdeen and I are engaged and we're moving into the family residence together," I blurt out.

"You what?" My mom's eyes are blazing. She looks like she could actually kill me this time. "No son of mine is marrying one of that slut's daughters. They're one food stamp away from homeless, Peeta! I hardly think some destitute whore is a suitable match for one of my boys."

"Honey, please," my dad chimes, trying in vain to diffuse the situation.

"Your boys? Are you kidding me? No part of me comes from you. Everything I am is to be anything but you," I seethe. "And she's not a whore. She's ten times the person you are. So's her mother." That part's not necessarily true, but since Katniss' mother seems to be a sore spot with mine, I throw it in for the extra dig.

She stands and at first looks like she's going to storm out of the room, but then she turns and leans into the hardest hit to my face she can muster. "You will not marry into that pathetic family," she screams.

"She's more of a family to me than you ever were," I spit back without pause.

"Think it'd be that easy? To not be a part of this family and make it on your own? I guess you'll see. Get the hell out of my house!"

"Still putting your reputation before your own son, eh Mom? Fine, have it your way," I say with a wave of my hand. I'm not sure a place in this family is worth fighting for.

"As long as you're with that girl, you're no son of mine. Be gone by the time I get back." She turns in disgust, grabs her purse and slams the door as she leaves the house.

I touch my hand to my face and confirm that it's already swelling around the point of impact.

"I'm sorry, Peeta," my dad says and I wonder if he's sorry for this or his part in my having a woman like that as a mother in the first place. I don't say anything and so he continues, "Congratulations, she seems like a fine young woman. She comes from two really great people."

"Thank you" is my only reply. I'm concentrating on slowing my heart rate and processing what the hell just happened.

"You know son, your mother's choices doing have to be mine. Wait here a minute."

He disappears from view and returns a moment later with an envelope and the keys to the van.

"When you leave, take it with you," he says handing me the keys. "All the paperwork's already in your name anyways. And take this, too," he hands me the envelope. "I've been saving it...for emergencies."

"Dad, I can't take-"

"You can," he says reassuringly. "It won't be enough, but it'll give you kids a good start. Call my cell if you ever need anything, okay?"

We both have tears in our eyes, unsure about how to navigate the intense father-son moment we've found ourselves in. He pulls me in for a tight hug, then releases me and walks away, clearly at his emotional limit.

As I pack my things and prepare to leave my childhood home for what might be the last time, I'm wondering how much I should tell Katniss about what's going on. The stakes of our so-called engagement are so much higher now than I ever expected. I'm fighting to keep her in school as much as I've got to fight for myself. Our complicated situation is now really _our_ situation.

I load up the van and start the engine. Without thinking twice I head towards Katniss' house, not sure how I'll explain the need to spend the night without telling her the whole truth.

She opens the door and the surprised look on her face fades away as she lightly runs her fingers over the swollen side of my face. Without a word she pulls me into her arms and the warmth coming through the open door coupled with the welcome pressure of her body against mine washes away any feeling of loss. I feel instead like I've finally found my home, my family.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N – A few of you asked about the ring Peeta gave Katniss in the last chapter. It doesn't seem to be working to upload a link, so you can see my inspiration on the Touchwood Rings website, under the Comparing and Combining Woods section. It's the light maple wood with birch bark inlay braided one.

They make the most beautiful rings ever!

Thanks for reading, reviewing and being patient with me throughout this hard-to-write-because-there's-so-much-fun-stuff-going-on summer!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

* * *

><p>Chapter 14<p>

KPOV

It's weird to have Peeta be the silent one. He's only said a few words since coming into the house hours ago and I have no idea how or if I should get him talking.

By the look of his face, I'm guessing that things didn't go very well at home. It looks like his mother fell back into old habits pretty quickly after hearing the news. I've never even exchanged a single word with the woman and I'd like to hunt her down like I would a wild animal, only I wouldn't worry about cruelty or a clean kill. Slow and tortuous sound about right for a piece of work like her.

I'm busy making up a bed for Peeta on our couch while he holds a fresh bit of ice to his cheek. I didn't know what to tell Prim or my mother, especially when he showed no interest in coming out of my room for dinner. It's only now, that everyone else has gone off to separate parts of the house, that he's come out of hiding.

I don't blame him. Sharing his woeful tale of domestic violence with his soon-to-be in-laws can't rank high on Peeta's list of ways to get to know the family. Besides, Prim and my mom were pretty cool about it. When a non-violent guy like Peeta shows up with half his face swollen, you know it's serious and probably not the time to make a big, embarrassing deal about it.

"You must be hungry, can I get you something?" He shakes his head no, but there's no way he's not in need of food after all this time. I leave him for a few minutes to make him some toast with peanut butter. It's not much, but at least it'll be something in his stomach.

"Thanks," he says. "Katniss, I... I'm sorry for just showing up like this."

"I'm glad you came...it's good you're here. Do you, uh, do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really, not tonight." He reaches for the toast and slowly begins to eat it. I feel relief that he doesn't want to talk, quickly followed by guilt for how selfish a thing that is.

We sit in silence for a few more minutes, which has become remarkably comfortable at this point. He finishes his toast and asks what time we should aim to leave tomorrow. I suggest after lunch and he agrees.

He catches me in a yawn and says, "You should get some sleep. I'm okay."

"Okay," I answer. "Goodnight, Peeta."

"Sleep well," he says.

* * *

><p>It takes me a while to fall asleep and when I do it's that unsatisfying, restless sleep that has you up every fifteen minutes. I've just woken up for what feels like the hundredth time and can hear the sound of footsteps coming towards my room. They stop once they get closer and there's a long pause before my door begins to slowly open.<p>

When my eyes adjust to the darkness, I can see Peeta's silhouette in the doorway, only he doesn't say anything and doesn't move. There's a light on in the hallway so I can see that there's an expression on his face I've never seen before and can't place.

He's waiting for my permission to come in without actually asking and I somehow give it to him with the look on my face because he begins to take slow steps towards me. We still haven't said anything by the time he reaches my bed.

He crouches down and brushes a few strands of hair off my face then keeps his hand where it it is on the side of my head while he places a firm kiss on my temple. When he pulls back I move as far over to the left side of my small bed as possible giving him enough space and an invitation to get in beside me.

As he manoeuvres himself under the blankets and sheets, I turn over onto my other side and gently push my body back against him. I can feel the rhythmic movement of his breathing as he holds me tightly and runs his fingers over the bare skin of my arm, lulling me into the deepest sleep I've ever had.

* * *

><p>My eyes fly open and I'm reaching wildly around me without the consciousness to even know what I'm looking for yet.<p>

"Good morning," Peeta says from the chair at the little desk a few feet from the bed. He's fully dressed and appears to be writing something.

"What time is it? Is it late?" I struggle to put the pieces of last night and the current situation together, but the fog of sleep won't seem to lift.

"No, it's still early, you should keep sleeping."

"What are you doing up then?" I demand, not ask, letting my morning crankiness get the better of me.

"Bakery time," he answers simply and shrugs. I move to roll over and keep sleeping, but know I won't be able to now that I'm up. With both the cover of darkness and the intensity of the night before passed, I'm feeling strange about Peeta being in my bedroom while I'm still in bed. It seems like I'm out of my element more than in it these days, it's getting exhausting.

"So no then?" he asks after a minute or two.

"Huh?"

"To the sleeping more...looks like you're pretty awake now."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"About yesterday..." he starts.

"Peeta, it's okay, we don't have to talk about it."

"Things just got intense at home...my mom, she...they'll come around, it'll just take some time."

He looks like he's physically in pain talking about it, even kind of defeated as he struggles for words and I'm not sure if it's because he's upset about the situation at home or uncomfortable having to talk about it. Either way, it's not a look or a tone of voice I want to get used to.

"We'll figure it out," I say, trying to sound reassuring. The thing is though that I didn't handle things so well with my own mother when everything went to shit. I have no idea where to begin to help Peeta through dealing with his psycho of a mom. It doesn't seem to me like theirs is a relationship worth saving.

I wait a few minutes to see if he has anything else he wants to share. When he remains silent I ask, "What are you writing?"

"I was just sketching a bit actually...it's a good distraction," he mumbles. "So how 'bout I fix the Everdeen girls some breakfast? If you have some flour, I'll even throw in some patented Mellark baked goods.

"You know I can't say no to that," I answer, suddenly feeling like he's looking for an out from our conversation and being totally okay with that.

He grins and heads out towards the kitchen. I drag myself out of bed and locate a sweater to put on over my pyjamas and some wool socks for my chilly feet. Curiosity gets the better of me before I leave the room and I find myself heading towards the desk.

When I flip to the last page Peeta was working on in the notebook he left behind, I see the image of a sleeping girl, her loose braid spilling wavy tendrils onto the pillow beneath her head. Her lips are pouty and slightly parted, her features soft and vulnerable. I'm slow to recognize myself in the sleeping girl's gentle face and find it even harder to believe that this is how Peeta sees me. He sees me...as beautiful.

* * *

><p>Carrying boxes into an apartment I'll be sharing with Peeta is a strange experience. It's blurring the lines again between what's real and what's for show. Peeta keeps asking me where he should put stuff for when we set-up later, which I know is the polite thing to do, but it has the feel of playing house, of pretending. With him. And I hate it. I don't want to pretend with Peeta, it doesn't feel right.<p>

I suppose though if you compare today to yesterday, it's not so far over on the weird scale. Breakfast with my family had been a little more forced than our dinner. Prim and my mom were trying so hard to be normal that they ended up overcompensating and were very obviously being over-the-top nice. You could tell with Prim right away since she seems to love having snappy exchanges with Peeta and was instead quiet and the picture of perfect guest-manners.

Then there was the drive back with Peeta. There was a lot more stuff in the van coming back to Morgantown than when we went home, but he got weirded out when I asked about it, so then we spent the rest of the drive either silent or making odd small talk when it seemed like we'd been quiet for too long. I didn't like the feeling of him being unreachable. Then I didn't like having to admit to myself that that's probably how most people feel about me. And then I liked the feeling that that might make me a lot like my mother even less.

"Hey, I picked up a couple of sandwiches for us down the street. Not much of a dinner, but..."

"It's plenty, thanks," I say grabbing one of the packages from him. We're sitting on two of Peeta's kitchen chairs in the middle of our growing box maze. I'm thankful for the break, the day has felt like it's been going on forever.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go out for New Year's Eve together, maybe dinner or something?"

It's a surprising invitation and feels like a loaded one. Images of girls with high expectations who end up publicly fighting with their boyfriends and hysterically crying their eyes out long before midnight flash before my eyes. Besides, I've spent most of my New Year's Eves with Gale mocking the whole thing and can't imagine doing anything else. And even though Gale and I don't seem to be talking at the moment, a part of me is still holding out hope that we won't break tradition.

"I uh, I think I might have plans already."

His face falls and I feel the sting of being the one responsible for it. "Oh, okay, sure. We should probably show up at the event they're having here on New Year's Day though. I think President Snow might even be here. It's like a ribbon cutting or something and a reception or open house."

"Yeah, sure, I hadn't heard about it..."

"Haymitch told me about it, said it would be a good idea."

I'm floored. Since when is Peeta talking to Haymitch? "You were talking to Haymitch over Christmas holidays?"

"Well, yeah, I had a few questions and he gave me his cell number, so..."

"His cell number?"

"Yeah, it was no big deal."

I don't know why the idea of Peeta and Haymitch talking without me is so upsetting, but it is. I'm irritated, suspicious, and feeling foolish about being left out of something I didn't know anything about.

"Really, Katniss, it was nothing," he repeats as nonchalantly as possible. He puts down the napkin he was using to get the last of the sandwich bits off his fingers before he reaches out and takes my hand. I resist the urge to pull away from him, still confused about the source of my sudden pissiness. I examine his face, looking for clues to support my scepticism, but I find nothing but his warm, easy smile.

"So," he says, still grinning, "this is our new place."

"Yup."

"I guess the first decision we have to make is, how are we going to set this place up for sleeping?"


	15. Chapter 15

A/N – So, yup, not doing so well at cranking out the chapters these days – thanks for understanding y'all. You know how it is. Life. It's a thing.

A great big virtual hug to all of you fabulous, sweet, supportive reviewers. You're amazing!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

* * *

><p>Chapter 15<p>

PPOV

The sleeping arrangements conversation was a funny one. I thought Katniss' head was going to explode when I asked the question. It took a lot of self-control to not make a big embarrassing deal out of it for her. I do get a weird pleasure out of messing with her sometimes, she just makes it so easy. And entertaining.

In the end, it was decided that we'd alternate who'd get the bed and who'd take the couch. Which was a bullshit agreement to start with because I already know I'll find ways to make sure she gets to sleep in the bed every night. I anticipate many a battle over it actually, Katniss doesn't exactly back down from a fight or take that well to kindness.

It's been amazing for me to see our place come together. From Katniss deciding where different pieces of my art should go to us deciding what the layout of our kitchen should be, I've loved every minute of it.

I know it's not exactly legit, know there's a lot on the line and that we've got to make it look good, but I'm holding out foolish, probably overly optimistic hope that we're building something real enough to survive the charade.

Our kisses sure don't feel like a show – there's no way someone could fake that – could they? I need to tell myself no and keep moving things forward, I don't know what else to do.

I'm strangely comforted by Haymitch's bizarrely protective thing for Katniss. She does seem to strike a nerve with him, but there's something underneath, something driving him to look out for her and I'm finding it very reassuring. Maybe it's because they're so similar, not that either one of them would ever consider or admit that.

When I called him, I didn't even really know what I wanted to say, I just thought he should know that my situation had changed. That I'll also need to apply for bursaries and scholarships and find a job and that if there was ever any doubt about my commitment to making my arrangement with Katniss work, I hope he knows now that I'm in it for every reason she is and more.

I didn't like calling him without Katniss knowing, it felt like I was doing it behind her back, but I wasn't ready to tell her the whole story. I don't want to worry her for nothing. I need her to trust me and I'm not sure she'll be able to if she's worried about me bailing to look out for myself. I also don't want to get into a situation where she calls the whole thing off to save my relationship with my parents. That would kill me. And no part of me feels like that would be worth it. I'll tell her, I will, just not yet.

She didn't tell me at first that her plans tonight were with Gale. I tried to stay casual and keep my face neutral when she told me. I think I have a pretty good poker face, so I'm hoping I succeeded.

She told me they've spent every New Year's Eve together since she was 12-years old. Then she said, without my asking, "He's a really good friend of mine, Peeta, just a friend. He's been there through a lot of the shit I've gone through. He's important to me, you know?"

What the hell I'm I supposed to say to that? Obviously I have to respect their friendship. I mean, he's been an actual part of her life long before I ever was, but it doesn't make it any easier. The history they share...it's intimidating. I want to speed ahead to a time when we have private jokes and annual traditions. A time when I'll know what she's thinking, will be able to tell how she's feeling and can tell her with confidence that we'll be okay because of all the struggles we've come through together already. Right now Gale gets to do all those things. He gets to say and do all those things and is a walking poster boy. And I have to be okay with that. And that sucks.

So, instead of staying at home and feeling sorry for myself, which is exactly what I want to do, I'm going to a party at a house where a few of my buddies live. I'd feel stupid if Katniss went out and came home and I'm still on the same place on the couch watching the ball drop.

I'm relieved when she comes out of the bathroom and looks like her usual self. I was afraid she'd come out either really dressed up or looking really slutty, you know, the way most other girls look on New Year's Eve. But she emerges in jeans and a sweater, her hair braided to one side. And I breathe a deep sigh of relief.

"Should I have asked you about hanging out with Gale?"

"What? Why? What do you mean?" I'm sensing some kind of trap...

"I don't know, I mean, we haven't really talked about, you know, us, like, in _that _way and I guess it might be a weird thing to be with another guy on New Year's Eve." Her voice is unsteady, unsure. I can tell she's nervous or hesitant to be talking about it.

"Look, Katniss, I like you. I think you know that. Our situation is complicated and it's making this," I gesture between us with my hand, "a little harder to navigate. Would I like to be spending tonight with you? Yeah, but you told me Gale's important to you, practically like family, so..." I throw in the like family part as a strategy to make him sound like less of a romantic option.

"He was so mad at me for not telling him about us, I just want to make it right, you know?"

"Yeah, I know, it's cool. We'll toast the new year when we both get home."

"You're going out?" I can't say I don't love the sound of her voice and the look on her face when she asks. Now who's trying to play it cool?

"Yeah, some of my friends are throwing a party at their place, should be a great time," I say casually.

"I forget I guess that you have this whole other social network...making friends is pretty easy for you, huh?"

"I guess I got used to talking to people from working in the bakery. I like it, everyone's got a story, you know?"

"It's probably what makes you such a great artist, " she states and I blush a little.

"Thanks," I answer.

"So I'll see you next year?" She asks smiling as she heads towards the door to put her coat on.

"See you next year," I say.

Once she's bundled up I pull her towards me for the deepest, most feelings-packed kiss I can muster. If she's going to be spending the night with Gale, I at least want to leave her with something to keep me on her mind. I'm aware the move is likely totally transparent, but maleness takes over and I don't care how obvious it is.

When I finally pull back, she looks a little stunned. I kiss her once more, softly, and then peck the end of her nose gently for good measure. She smiles with a look on her face that says she's onto me, but she doesn't call me out. She gives one of my hands a good squeeze and then turns to leave, saying, "I'll see you soon, Peeta."

* * *

><p>An hour later I'm sitting in a room full of laughing, loud-talking drunk people. I tried to have a drink and get into the spirit of things, but it had little appeal, so instead I'm on the fringe of a small group that's gathered in the kitchen, trying to look like I'm into the conversation and holding a now warm beer in my hand. The crowd's a good one, populated with a lot of people I've known since my first year here in Morgantown, but none of them are Katniss and I'm painfully aware of her absence.<p>

I'm considering getting some fresh air when one of the guys calls out, "Hey Mellark, did I hear you shacked up with that hot girl from back home? What's her name? Katie? Katherine?"

"Katniss."

"Right, right...is it true?"

It hadn't occurred to me that I'd have to put on the whole engagement song and dance tonight, but I guess that's kind of the deal from now on.

"Yeah, we're uh, we're engaged. We just moved into the new family residence...gotta save some money for that wedding, ya' know?" I say as naturally as possible.

"Congrats man, I didn't even know you guys were seeing each other."

"When you know, you know, right?" I say, because people seem to always consider this an acceptable answer when it comes to relationships.

This inspires a round of shots and clinking glasses and fist pumps that overwhelm even me, a guy who's pretty comfortable with crowds and people. I end up having people I've never seen before hug me and offer me drink after drink as they spout off marital advice and cautionary tales of weddings gone bad. Girls find the whole thing impossibly romantic and the guys want to know when my bachelor party's going to be. I will have no doubt prompted fights between girlfriends disappointed with boyfriends and spontaneous make-out sessions between strangers riding off the romantic wave of my announcement. My low key night has somehow turned into a me-centric rager.

"So where's your woman then, Mellark?" Someone shouts over the crowd.

"Family thing," I call back. And just like that I'm thinking about Katniss with Gale again, only this time I'm a few shots in so my thoughts have become disproportionately intense. I'm suddenly angry with Katniss for ditching me on New Year's Eve and I'm pissed at Gale for his very existence.

I spend a bit more time stewing among the congratulatory crowd before trudging home through the snow. Around me the streets of Morgantown are far livelier than usual. Tipsy party-goers are waiting for cabs, making their way to their next destination and avoiding at all costs the defeat of going home too early.

I, however, want nothing more than to be back in my bed in my own space where I should have been all night long.

When I walk into the apartment, the lights are off and everything is quiet. I assume Katniss isn't home yet, which only increases my pouty mood, so I head to the bedroom and strip down to my boxers and t-shirt. I somehow feel entitled to the comfort of the bed and figure I'll move to the couch when Katniss gets home.

I realize when I close my eyes that those shots are creating a bit of a spin effect, one that's uncomfortable and the opposite of what I was hoping for. How do people do this every weekend? It's not a feeling I could ever get used to.

I get a bit restless and am aware that my breathing is heavier than usual as I try to get a handle on my body so I can fall asleep. I'm worried I might have to get up and spend some quality time on the floor of the bathroom when a warm hand begins to rub gentle circles on my back.

It's unexpected, but not unwelcome and I begin to feel better almost instantaneously. As I relax and drift towards sleep, the anger leaves my thoughts and the spinning slows. I'm reassured by a familiar voice in my ear. "You're okay, just go to sleep..."

The last thing I remember before completely losing consciousness is a soft whisper saying, "Happy New Year, Peeta."


	16. Chapter 16

A/N – Hey y'all, here's the next chapter. It'll be about 3 weeks before my next one because I'm heading off on a trip to Nepal and while I may do some writing while away, I won't be connecting to the internet, so won't actually be uploading until I get back.

Thank you, as always, for your tremendous support and positive reviews. An especially big shout out to those of you who follow and review consistently with every chapter – it's so great to see your familiar names attached to your awesome reviews. Heart!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 16<p>

KPOV

It's almost noon and Peeta hasn't so much as stirred yet this morning. He was pretty wasted last night. So drunk in fact that he hadn't even realized he'd crawled into bed with me in his underwear. I'm annoyingly curious about how his night played out given his state. I get how hypocritical that is of me given I spent the evening with Gale though.

Things with Gale went better than expected, though my expectations were pretty low to begin with, so it's all relative. We got off to a rough start. Conversation was stilted since he was clearly still pissed at me, but after a while he lightened up a bit and it felt a little more like old times.

It wasn't long, though, before he noticed my ring. Then I was faced with the horrible dilemma of having to decide whether to tell him the truth or make sure he believed the lie. I had to settle for a little bit of both.

I told him Peeta and I had gotten a lot closer in the last little while, that the relationship had taken us both by surprise and that I hadn't told him about it sooner because I didn't know what to make of it myself.

"And so you're what, you're engaged now?" He asked, not bothering to hide his distaste for the idea.

"We've decided we're all in, yeah, and we'll figure out what that means as we go," I answered, hoping he didn't push for too much more detail.

"Katniss, I just don't get it. This isn't you. You never would've went near that kid back home. And I never would've thought of you as the kind of girl to lose her head and run off and marry the first guy to come along."

At this I took a deep, slow breath. Every part of me wanted to tear Gale a new one, but I was also trying to make things right, not worse, so I continued on as calmly as I could. "It is me, it's who I am now, Gale, and I hope that you can still be friends with this me because I couldn't stand it if you weren't. It can't be like it was when we were kids forever, we're growing up."

"I guess I just thought, I mean, I always figured it'd be you and me, you know? That when you decided you were ready for the whole relationship thing, it'd be us. Not you and that spoiled baker's kid."

"But you never said anything! You never tried-"

"Yeah, and now I guess I'm too late."

We sat in silence for a while after that, each of us stuck in our own heads. Then he turned to look at me and leaned in for an entirely unexpected kiss.

What's so crazy is that a month ago I hadn't kissed anyone at all and then yesterday I experienced a first kiss with a whole other person! It was surreal, both because it was Gale and because kissing is still such a new phenomenon for me.

There was nothing wrong with it, the kiss I mean. It was as fiery and passionate as Gale can be. For a moment while it was happening I could almost see this whole other time line play out in my mind. It was me and Gale carving out a life for ourselves surrounded by family with lots of time in the woods around Oak Hill.

But then almost as quickly as those images came they were replaced with ones of me and Peeta. His sweet, steadfast loyalty. The way he challenges me, steadies me, opens my eyes to things I've only ever seen in the one way.

And that's when I pulled back from Gale, pushing him away gently with a hand on his chest. He smiled sadly and said, "I had to try. Just the once."

I gave a small smile back, but didn't speak, so Gale went on.

"I guess the thing is, Catnip, I was waiting for you to give me a sign that that's what you wanted. You never did, not in all these years, I get that now. Some part of me always kinda knew that meant something, something I didn't really want to know."

"You should get to know him, Gale, he's a good guy."

"Must be."

We were able to relax after that. We settled in with snacks and made fun of the slew of ridiculous celebrities counting down in Time Square, as we normally would. At midnight we hugged and the loaded feeling that had been there between us was gone. By the time I left I wasn't really sure when we'd hang out again, but I felt good about where we were at.

When I got home everything made sense. I breathed in as much of Peeta's scent as I could when I walked through the door, then spent some time looking at his art and checking out his beautiful kitchen tool collection. I felt like I was home amongst his things. It was obvious something was missing without him though and I found myself wishing he'd walk through the door and complete the feeling.

Even as drunk as he was, it was still a pretty nice end to the year. While part of me still finds sharing my bed with a man foreign and bizarre, I can't deny it's fast becoming one of my favourite things with Peeta. Knowing he's there, hearing his breathing, being wrapped up in his strong arms – I've never felt so safe. It was a good, good night.

Today would be a whole other kind of nightmare though. Peeta thinks we should go to some opening ceremony reception thing here in the building and I can't think of anything I'd rather do less.

I hate meeting new people in forced social situations. It's the worst. I'm terrible at small talk, and I have no idea how to be charming or convincingly friendly. Thank god I'll be with Peeta, he actually likes people.

At 12:30 I can finally hear Peeta starting to come back to life. I get some more coffee going since he may need some help joining the land of the living again.

"Hey Sunshine," I say with a chuckle when he emerges from the bedroom, his blond hair sticking out in all directions.

"Hey," he manages to get out, heading straight towards the coffee pot.

"So, you had a big night last night then," I say with a smirk.

"I'm not really sure how it happened, but yeah, I guess I did," he says. "Thanks, for uh, for making sure I got to sleep okay."

"Well, you didn't leave me much of a choice..."

He blushes a bit at the reminder and continues to silently sip his coffee.

"So, we really doing this in an hour and a half?"

"Shit, what time is it? I was going to bake something for it," he says and I can't help but smile hearing him curse. I point to the clock and he sighs. "Yeah, Haymitch said we should and I think it's a good idea, you know, to keep up appearances."

I'd forgotten about the interaction Peeta's been having with Haymitch without me. The 'Boys' Club' feeling of it pisses me off and sours what was a pretty good mood.

"Well, if you two think it's a good idea then I guess that's what we're doing. I'm going to take a shower," I say with unmistakeable attitude and then stalk off towards the bathroom, leaving Peeta in the kitchen to try and figure out what the hell just happened.

* * *

><p>There are already a dozen or so people at the reception when we arrive. Quite a few of them are milling around the table containing some kind of punch and several different kinds of snacks.<p>

Haymitch spots us and saunters over, pulling a small flask out of an inside jacket pocket as he reaches us. He casually pours some of the clear liquid into his punch like he would cream into coffee. Peeta recoils at the smell and I roll my eyes at the both of them.

"I didn't know you would be here," I say to Haymitch.

"Well, Happy New Year to you too, sweetheart. Wouldn't want to miss your big debut," he says, taking a sizable swig of his drink. "You two should circulate, make some friends." The last part he says with a sarcastic tone, like the idea of us making friends is a ridiculous notion. It annoys me because he's probably right.

I look at Peeta apprehensively and he smiles back, taking my hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He walks us confidently towards the nearest group of people and strikes up a casual conversation with ease. I try my best to smile and add to the small talk whenever possible, but mostly I just let Peeta do his thing.

After a while I need a break from the crowd so I wander back over towards the punch to refill our cups. I realize too late that there's a couple fighting just behind the table, so I'm awkwardly privy to their argument while pouring our drinks.

"You do this to me every single time. It's like you're trying to embarrass me on purpose!"

"No, Cato, that's not true, I didn't mean to-"

"You never mean to, do you? You're always so innocent with your bullshit crying, cozying up to other guys telling me you're just being friendly."

I decide I've heard enough, but before I turn to leave I take a good look at the guy berating his partner. He's a big, imposing man and the look in his eyes is hard and threatening. It's upsetting to see a person looking at another with such a cold expression. It sends an awful chill down my spine.

When I get back to Peeta I smile at the couple he's talking to, then politely excuse us and pull him off to the side.

"Don't look really obvious about it, but have you ever met that guy over by the punch? He's there with a girl."

"No, not yet. Why, what's his deal?"

"No reason, never mind, he just seems like a dick."

Haymitch rejoins us then and the three of us get into a lively debate about the value of a college degree, the people who are rich enough to basically buy one and what that means for the rest of us. Peeta is of course trying to add balanced comments that take both sides into account. I'm arguing fervently that arrogant bastards who have too much money to truly value anything are ruining our country and Haymitch is mostly just drinking, amused by our conversation.

I'm just wrapping up a particularly passionate point about the kind of egocentric asshole that becomes an academic and just how many of them I've had to suffer through during my time at UWV when Haymitch clears his throat especially loudly.

"Good afternoon, President Snow. There's a fine turnout here today," Haymitch says, extending his hand to the white-haired man behind me.

I'm afraid to turn to face him, but know I have to. When I do, he's already looking at me, probably trying to memorize the face of the girl who just insulted his school, profession and faculty.

"And you are?" He's smiling, but it's a practised smile barely hiding his contempt.

"Katniss Everdeen," I reply, avoiding his eyes as I shake his hand.

He holds it in his firm grip a moment more than necessary and I wonder if he's going to say something else, but then Peeta breaks in with a, "And I'm Peeta Mellark, sir, Katniss' fiance," and offers him his hand to let me off the hook.

"I trust you'll both enjoy, and appreciate," he says pointedly, looking straight at me, "living here."

"Of course, sir, thank you for the opportunity," Peeta answers while I stay silent. Despite it having been Peeta who spoke, President Snow continues to train his eyes on me for a beat longer before making his way towards the podium set up on the other side of the room.

"Well done, darlin'," Haymitch says acerbically while clapping, "Way to stay under the radar and make a good first impression on the one man who could blow this all to shit for you. For you both." He shakes his head and mutters, "You're always worth the price of admission, sweetheart," before making his way to the front for the speech.

As the crowd fills in to hear President Snow's official opening, Peeta and I slink back towards the far end of the room. He turns to me and says, "We could just leave. There are a lot of people here...no one would notice."

"Really? Because I would love to get the hell out of here,"

"Yeah, come on, let's get you home. And get some kind of disgustingly fattening baked good into you," he adds and smiles.

"The perks of living with you are really stacking up, Mellark," I answer with a big grin, leaning into his chest playfully.

"I aim to please," he says, taking my hand and leading me out towards home.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N – My post-Nepal writing took longer than I thought, but I think I'm back on track. I so wish I could be one of those amazing fanfic writers who writes a chapter every day, but alas, I'm a slow and steady kinda gal. Thanks for sticking with me and being so cool about it y'all! Big love all around!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 17<p>

PPOV

Katniss and I fall into a natural rhythm in our apartment that makes me feel as though we've never lived apart. We do our schoolwork together either at the kitchen table or on the couch. We divvy up the cooking of meals without really having to talk about it; sometimes cooking on alternate nights, sometimes each preparing an element of whatever it is we're making. We come and go at different times most days, but manage to share the space in a way that works for both of us.

I'm busier and out a lot more now that I've taken a job at a nearby bakery. I should've told Katniss about my parents then, but didn't. I told her it'd be good for appearances for me to be working, that it'd be weird to other people if she were working and I wasn't. She looked at me a bit skeptically, like she was trying to figure out whatever it was I wasn't saying and I thought for sure that was the moment I was going to have to confess the whole mess of a situation going on with my parents. But, after a beat she just said, "Yeah, that makes sense," and let it drop.

The more difficult part of our living together, at least for me, has been restraint. I've been holding back on moving our physical relationship forward and it's been anything but easy. I think a part of me is still treating our whole relationship like a delicate house of cards that I could topple over with one rash move, but it's also that I want her to know the whole truth before we take that step. And I don't know why, but it's becoming harder and harder for me to just tell her. It's so embarrassing to have a mother who's so judgemental, so elitist. The thought of telling Katniss that I've essentially chosen her over my own mom...it's a lot. How do you tell the only girl you've ever loved that you've been disowned because she's not good enough for your mother? I would be crushed if Katniss' mother felt that way about me.

So I've been keeping it pretty PG, but it's becoming more and more of an uncomfortable challenge. I guess I'm nervous, too, about my own ability to do anything else well. My assumption is that this would be the first time for both of us and I don't want the experience to be a terrible one. I just keep thinking, what if I'm really bad at it or last like two seconds or what if it hurts her? We're both older than most people are when they first have sex, so sure, we have a little more maturity on our side, but I almost wish we'd both made some drunken mistakes in our earlier college years to take some of the pressure off. Maybe Katniss did, who knows, I've never actually asked her. For me my mistakes only went as far as some ill-fated make-out sessions and a couple of short-lived relationships that didn't go much beyond second base. My experience is limited and I keep worrying about the fact that I've been basically waiting for Katniss for all of this for most of my life and what will I do if it all goes horribly wrong?

I almost blew it on Valentine's Day. I assumed that, like most women, Katniss would expect I do something to commemorate our first Valentine's Day together. I could not have been more wrong. When she came in and saw the candlelit dinner I'd prepared and the roses for her on the table I thought she might literally throw up on the spot. "Peeta, what the hell?" were the first words out of her mouth.

"I just thought..." I started to say in my defence, but she cut me off.

"No, no way. We are not going to be _those_ people. Ugh, seriously, let's not do this crap, okay? Not us. I can't deal with the whole cliched-ness of it."

So I encouraged her to go change into her pyjama pants as she usually does when she gets home, blew out the candles, put the table settings away, brought the roses down to the lobby to be enjoyed by everyone but us and brought two plates to the couch so we could eat while watching something ridiculous on TV.

She looked around as she sat down, taking in all I'd done to de-Valentine's the place, and she said, "Sorry Peeta, thank you for going to so much trouble, if it were any other day but today..."

"It's cool, I get it," was all I said about it.

The next day, I made an equally delicious meal, but instead of roses I made a small cake and drew a pretty sweet non-rose bouquet on it with icing. I brought the candles back out and set the table as nicely as I had the day before. When she walked in she laughed and said, "You're too much, you know that?" But she came and gave me a long, drawn out bunch of kisses and was complimentary enough about everything that I knew she was trying to express her approval and make up for, let's face it, being a total bitch the day before.

Our reading week is next week and while both of us are working a little bit, it'll be the closest thing to a staycation we'll get, at least for a good long while. I'm hoping it'll finally be a time for us to spend more than just late, exhausted meals together and rushed early mornings. And, of course, with that time will also, hopefully, come closeness enough for me to finally show Katniss just how I feel.

It seems like most people are spending reading week elsewhere too, so it should be nice and quiet around the building. Well, except for that Cato guy and his wife. I ran into her the other day in the laundry room. She seemed afraid to talk to me at first, but then after a few minutes of me attempting friendly small talk she opened up a bit more and seemed to enjoy, maybe even need the interaction. She told me they were staying close to home. Cato's in training for something, I didn't quite get what, but I guess he likes to maintain a strict routine that also involves her having to do a bunch of stuff for him. I didn't like the way she talked about it, saying things like, "It's just that he's always very particular about..." and "I don't always get it right, I'm such an idiot" and "He doesn't always win, mostly because I don't support him in the way that he needs." It was upsetting to say the least. They were clearly things that had been repeated to her over and over again that she believed wholeheartedly.

The whole thing was made worse by Cato storming into the laundry room demanding to know what was taking her so long. I introduced myself to try and diffuse the situation, but I may have only increased his agitation. His wife, Cato called her Glimmer, but I didn't catch her real name, looked uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable actually, she looked afraid. And the way he looked at her...it was with such disdain, such disgust even. The whole scene left me feeling just awful, and helpless. I followed them to see which apartment was theirs and decided I would walk by it often and listen for any signs of trouble. I told Katniss and she agreed to do the same.

Gale's sticking around next week too. Katniss thinks we should have him over and I think the whole situation would be weird. It's cool that they're friends and all, I think I'm okay with it at this point, but I don't think he and I need to become bffs or anything. What would he and I even talk about?

* * *

><p>When Katniss gets home, it's a little later than usual. She's bursts through the door covered in snow and looking frazzled.<p>

"Holy shit, it's storming like crazy out there!" she breathes as she starts to tear off her various layers of winter clothing. When she's down to a t-shirt and jeans she comes to look over my shoulder at the painting I've been working on. It's a sinister looking view of the hallway that leads away from the laundry room downstairs. "Huh, that's a weird one," she says, incapable of bullshit. I chuckle and put down my brush, anxious to spend time with her now that she's home.

"I didn't feel like cooking," I say, following her into the kitchen. She seems agitated, opening then slamming drawers and cupboards, sometimes the same ones two or three times.

"I don't feel like cooking either...living room picnic?"

"Agreed."

Since I often bring home bits and pieces from the bakery and Katniss does the same from the deli, we occasionally create a big ol' plate of meat, cheese, bread and whatever other goodies we've scored and eat it sitting on the floor, usually watching a movie or listening to music.

We opt for a comedy that we've seen more than fifteen times; she looks like she could use the levity. Besides, we both hate reality TV and while I don't mind watching sports, Katniss isn't really interested. She's also not big on most other genres. She told me once that she's experienced enough sadness and drama in her life and doesn't need to watch stories about someone else's. I couldn't really argue with that. I watch the sad stuff when she's not home.

Once we've finished eating, I move closer to her and pull her legs across my lap. "So," I begin, "what do you want to do next week?"

"Sleep," is all she says at first and I think that might be it, but then she goes on, "and eat, and get up into the woods if the weather's alright."

"Those don't sound like very fun things," I say.

"Speak for yourself. What's _your_ big plan?" And by the edge to her voice I can tell she's not over whatever it was that was pissing her off when she got home.

"Ideally, my big plan includes you." As I say this I lean over and pull her in for a kiss. I'm not sure she's really in the mood, but it's worth a shot. My lips meet hers softly and I'm surprised at the intensity she responds with. Not to say that our kissing isn't normally passionate, but today there's a force behind it I haven't felt yet. I respond in kind, hands moving to her face to pull her in more tightly. She begins to move more urgently, and with one quick, graceful movement she straddles me, kissing me hard and fast. Her hair tickles my face and neck as it envelops me. I grasp at her thighs, wishing there was some way to feel her even closer to me. The fantasy version of this moment doesn't even begin to compare to the feeling of Katniss wanting me this way, wanting me so fully and completely. Here. Now.

It begins to overwhelm me. Is this really the way this should happen? Am I wrong to let it happen this way? There was definitely something wrong when she got home and now... My overly sensitive side gets the better of me and I find myself placing a hand on each of her shoulders and gently pulling back.

"Am I missing something?" I ask gently.

"Are you serious right now?"

"It just kinda feels like there might be something else going on here, you know, other than just you and me."

Her face takes on a look I've rarely seen. It's one of embarrassment, quickly becoming clouded by anger. She pushes off of me with force enough to leave a mark. She stomps off towards the bedroom and I decide to give her a few minutes before following.

I knock before entering slowly, "Hey, can we talk?"

"Peeta, no, just leave me alone, okay?"

"Katniss, come on. Talk to me."

She sighs, but rolls onto her side to face me. "I had a chat with President Snow today."

"What? Where? What did he say to you?" I feel irrationally protective already. Something about that creepy old man...

"I had to pick up those bursary applications at Haymitch's office. I was on my way out and we met in the hallway. He said he remembered me from the opening reception. He asked how we were coming along with choosing a wedding date. Then he said it'd be a shame if I didn't get any of the bursaries I needed to finish the year. I think he has it out for me."

"Just because the guy's super creepy, and a total dick, doesn't mean he has it out for you."

"Ugh, I just feel like this whole thing was such a bad idea. What was I thinking dragging you into this? I wish things didn't have to be this way, I wish we could just..."

"I know, me too. Is this what that was all about in there? Look, Katniss, we might have to be a certain way outside for them, but in here, in here it's just us and we can be whatever way we want to be. And that's not to say that I didn't love what was going on out there, because believe me, I _loved _what was going on out there, but I want that to be in our own time and just for us."

Relief floods her features and she wraps her arms around my neck extra tightly. "Thank you, Peeta," she whispers.

"While we're talking, we should probably-"

"Whatever it is, can it just wait? I've had more than enough emotional roller coaster-y seriousness for today. How 'bout neither of us takes the couch tonight and we watch stupid movies on your laptop until we pass out?"

I smile all big and goofy at the thought of her spending the rest of the night in my arms. "You've got yourself a deal."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N – Happy New Year! Still here, still trying to write these as fast as possible, still really slow at it. At least I'm consistent in some way ;) Thank you for sticking with me and for your ongoing support. I'm super thankful for all you! I'm working towards some more action, but much like my writing pace, it's a little slow getting there.

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><p>Chapter 18<p>

KPOV

I wish some things in life were automatic, like knowing how to be a half-decent girlfriend, for example. Peeta's unwavering patience with me is a constant source of amazement. Okay, well maybe not entirely unwavering, even he loses his shit like the rest of us sometimes, but for the most part, his calm response to my complete and total lack of social graces is nothing short of saintly.

There are times, and sadly they happen pretty frequently, when I hear these awful things coming out of my mouth before I even know they're on the way and I think, damn it Katniss, where's your filter!

He was so cute on Valentine's Day and I didn't even hesitate to shut down everything he'd done. I panicked. I saw the candles and the roses and it was like, how did I get here? I don't want to be just someone's girlfriend and I don't want to become some programmed robot who wants everything popular media tells me I should want just because I'm a girl. And I don't want Peeta to have to be the guy who thinks he has to do that. Of course instead of having that conversation like a grown-up, I flipped out and then felt like shit for being such a jerk about it.

Miraculously, Peeta just totally rolled with it, that night and even the next day when he did it all again just so we could have a nice evening together in a way I would feel good about. For every moment of uncertainty I have he's right there, making everything okay. It's guilt-makingly consistent.

I was especially thankful for Peeta's solid-as-a-rock presence the other day when I ran into President Snow. God that man gives me the creeps. There's something so sinister about him and that practised smile of his. I'm sure he was threatening me, sure he wanted me to know he's holding all the cards. I honestly have no idea what I was thinking going through with this lie. And now I really actually care for Peeta, which somehow is just making this whole thing so much worse.

Peeta's right though, this thing we're doing, us, it has to be on our terms and not because both of our futures are riding on us making it look good. We have to figure out how to keep it all separate and I'm starting with tonight. I've never felt the way I do about Peeta about anyone else before. He makes me feel safe, and valued, and...loved. I want him to know that and know it a way I could never express with words.

When he gets home it's early in the afternoon. I don't have to work today, but he put in an early shift at the bakery, so he's already been working a full seven or eight hours. I hug and kiss him when he comes through the door, already an uncharacteristic outpouring of affection on my part. He's grateful for it, I can tell, and heads off to shower and change smiling from ear to ear.

I've planned an afternoon in the woods for us; I'm anxious to take him on one of my favourite trails where we'll hopefully catch the early sunset on our way back. The day is clear and not too cold, so it should be perfect.

We're both pretty quiet for the first bit of our walk. We hold hands until the terrain starts to require the kind of balance that comes from two free arms and plenty of space. Plus, Peeta knows I get into a bit of a zone in the woods that precludes most PDA.

As we get going Peeta starts to chat about his day at work and how the bakery stuff's okay, but that he thinks he'll start looking for more arts related work sometime soon.

"You'd be perfect at that," I say.

"I don't think it would pay much, but maybe I could do some art therapy stuff at the community centre or in schools...I don't know...it's just such a good outlet for people needing a way to get stuff out."

I don't know much about art, or therapy, or expressing feelings for that matter, but I get where Peeta's coming from. His art is so varied. Sometimes the subject matter is obvious and poignant. Sometimes, though, it's just the ghost of an emotion, an impression, a strong feeling you're left with by looking at something as innocuous as a street lamp. You know that something is being worked out in those subtle images, you can feel that it's been transferred from him to that canvas in a way that's real and raw.

"Seems like it could be a pretty powerful thing," I say and I know that I actually mean it.

There's a lightness to our time together today that feels good. Peeta's playful and flirty and I've let all usual chips fall from my shoulders. It's like we're...happy. It's not the same as my quiet comfort with Gale or the unbreakable bond with my sister. It feels natural and like it all makes sense. But there's also a feeling of exhilaration, like I can't wait to find out what's going to happen between us next. Where I would have normally found ways to eliminate the opportunity for greater closeness or intimacy, I find myself daydreaming as we walk about all the different scenarios that would guarantee it.

By the time we get to the lookout to watch the sun spread its colours across the sky and dip below the horizon, I'm vibrating in anticipation of our contact. Peeta takes my hand and I can feel him looking at me as I look out across the snowy valley.

"We're supposed to be here for the sunset," I say, still looking out ahead.

"I never agreed to that," he grins. "Besides, it's got nothin' on you."

I shake my head and keep it turned to hide the redness that's spreading across my face.

Peeta pulls on my hand, drawing me to him. My heart is beating wildly as he leans in and presses his lips against mine. I feel a warmth that spreads down to my toes, fighting off the chill that's creeping in now that the sun's going down.

I want to be closer to him, but our winter clothes are making it impossible. I'm feeling an urgency that's completely unfamiliar to me. I've craved things, been hungry, but this, this is something different. It's a whole different kind of need.

I feel Peeta's wanting matching my own.

"I think we need to get home. Now," I say purposefully, tearing myself away from his sweet tasting mouth.

We're almost running home, giddy like kids let out of school early. We don't say anything, both desperate to preserve the urgent, electric feeling between us. Peeta grins at me whenever our eyes meet and I'm sure I'm smiling back like a lunatic, happy to lose myself in this strange new feeling.

We get to our apartment and tear off our outer layers with no regard to where anything is going. When I get to the clothes underneath, I don't stop stripping down. I pull my sweater up over my head and am considering losing my t-shirt as well when Peeta catches my hands mid-pull.

"Katniss, before we... I just want... We have to talk." His face looks worried, which worries me. But also pisses me off. I don't want to talk. I feel like I've finally figured out how to express what I'm feeling and it has nothing to do with words.

He must see my expression shifting because he looks at me, pleading. "Please," he says and I know I'm going to hear him out now. How could I not when he's staring at me with that serious and pained look on his face.

We sit down on the couch and Peeta starts, "My parents, well my Mom really, she uh, she didn't take the news as well as I let on at Christmas. She sort of, um, she kicked me out...and, cut me off."

I hear what he's saying, but I'm having trouble believing it. "What do you mean? Like, disowned you? Because of me?"

"I've told you what she's like. It wasn't worth-"

"Wasn't worth what? She's your Mom, Peeta! That's your family! So, the job? The bursaries...living here..."

"It didn't start out that way. In the beginning I just wanted to help you and to stop taking so much from them. But then when I told them, she just got so...it was awful...and I couldn't do it anymore. And I didn't want to make things worse for you, you were already so stressed out about this whole thing. It's really not a big deal..."

"Not a big deal? Peeta, it's a huge friggin' deal! You lied! And I can't be the reason you... And if we get caught... I can't believe this!" I feel completely overwhelmed and can't be around him anymore, can't have this conversation. I storm off to the bedroom and slam the door.

I'm expecting Peeta to follow me, but he doesn't. I don't know if that makes things better or worse. I can't believe he lied to me. I can't be responsible for him losing his whole family. Or him getting kicked out of school and not getting his degree. The whole thing...the pressure of it. He's right, I never would have gone along with any of this had I known.

It takes me a long time to cool down. I'm furious at Peeta for lying, feel guilty about jeopardizing his future, and am processing countless things related to his mother being so opposed to his union with me that she would abandon her own child. She's a crappy mom and a pretty awful person, so normally it'd be easy for me to not give a shit about what she thinks. In most cases, a person like her makes me want to do opposing things just out of spite. With Peeta though, she's right, he is too good a person for me. A fact that I know deep down, but that's making it harder to hold onto my anger and I want to be angry at him right now. I don't want to throw buried feelings about my own inadequacy and endless flaws into the emotional mix.

I'm also guessing that Peeta met with Haymitch about all this without me, something that also fills me with rage. The thought of the two of them plotting and leaving me out... It's a betrayal. Haymitch is a drunk and a jerk, but he's always been the drunk jerk in _my_ corner.

At one point Peeta knocks on the door, "We don't have to talk right now, but you should still eat something." He waits for a response and when I say nothing I hear him set down a plate. It's another hour before I get hungry enough to open the door and pull in the sandwich he's left.

I eventually fall asleep, but it's that restless, unsatisfying kind of sleep that leaves you no better rested in the morning. Peeta never came back to our room. He must have slept on the couch.

When I finally feel ready to see him, I throw on a pair of jeans and an old comfy sweatshirt before wandering into the main room. Instead of finding him waiting for me though, there's just a note left on the kitchen table.

Took a shift.

Thought you might want the space.

Talk later?

Is he avoiding me? Afraid of me? I'm pissed off all over again. What I'm most afraid of is that he's being genuinely nice to me. Trying to understand how I'm feeling and giving me what I need. I don't want perfect Peeta with his endless patience and sweetness right now. I want to get to be mad and I want to not be so selfish that I continue to be the reason everything's at stake for him at the same time.

I start frantically looking for things to do to keep me from stewing. I tidy up a bit and then decide to go check our mailbox in the lobby. I take the long way around to walk past that creep, Cato's, apartment. When I get within a few feet of it, the door bursts open and his wife crashes into me, dropping the duffle bag she's carrying. I reach down to get it for her and see that she's crying or has been, it's hard to tell.

"Sorry," she says, her voice unsteady.

"No worries. Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I, uh, I just need a night away, you know?"

"Yeah, I do. Hey, if you ever need anything-"

"I'll be fine," she cuts me off and starts to walk away. "Thanks," she says over her shoulder, but doesn't look back. I can't fault her for wanting her privacy, I more than get that.

I get the mail – nothing even remotely interesting – and wander back to the apartment to wait for Peeta. For what might be the first time in my life, I'm actually anxious to talk. Somehow after running into blondie in the hallway, I'm just not as angry anymore.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N – Wow! Such flattering reviews once again. Thank you all so much for your happy-making words. You (collectively) rock!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 19<p>

PPOV

I can hear my boss sigh loudly over my shoulder as I pull yet another lopsided loaf out of the oven. My head is clearly not in the game today. My baking skills have regressed to a pitiable state.

"Sorry Frank," I say simply.

"You sure you don't wanna just take off for the day, kid?" This is the nicest way he can think of to ask me to leave and stop butchering the bread, I know this, but I don't want to go home yet. I'm not ready to face off with Katniss.

"Nah, I'm looking to put in some extra time."

"This a money thing or a woman thing?" I chuckle when he says this in his gruff voice. I wasn't expecting to have a heart-to-heart with this man. Ever. And he's surprisingly accurate with his assessment.

"A woman thing," I decide to answer honestly.

"That fiancee of yours giving ya trouble?" Of course he would put it like that. I've heard him talk about his wife "breaking his balls" on more than one occasion.

"It's my fault this time though, that's the problem." I'm not sure a guy like Frank can even understand a world in which me, a man, made a mistake. And am admitting to it.

"So you buy 'er some flowers, you say you're sorry, you move on. Women ain't as complicated as they want us to think they are, kid." This man's obviously never met a woman like Katniss.

"You really think it'll be that easy?"

"Sure. You put up with each others' bullshit. That's the deal, that's marriage."

I spend the rest of my shift cleaning and reorganizing the shelves in the backroom. At least I can't screw up anything too badly back here. I can hear Frank chatting with customers from time to time, repeating the same expressions and making comments about the weather. It makes me think of my dad and the way he runs our bakery. I wonder what things are like between he and my mom these days. I'd love to have him to talk to at a time like this.

I hope Frank's right, that Katniss will get past my mistakes and put up with me just the same. I feel like I've already gone through a similar pattern with her a few times now, except I guess her mistakes haven't really been that big of a deal. They're more like, personality quirks than anything. She is who she is and there's no changing her. I knew what I was getting into. Can she say the same?

By the time I get back to the apartment, I'm really nervous. I don't want things to get any worse. Having the situation escalate at this point would be disastrous.

Katniss is on the couch. She doesn't seem to be doing anything, which makes me wonder how long she's been sitting there, just staring into space.

"Hey," I venture.

"Hey. We gonna talk?" I'm surprised she offers this, it's always me who has to initiate serious conversations.

"Yeah, that sounds good."

I sit down beside her on the couch. I'm not sure how close I should get, so I keep some space between us. She turns towards me, bringing her leg up on the couch, closing the gap a little bit. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding.

We stay silent for another full minute. It seems like neither of us knows who should begin.

I break the silence with, "Katniss, I'm so sorry."

"I know, Peeta. It's just…you lied to me. I hate that you lied to me. I'm not...I just don't trust people that easily and I need to be able to trust you." She speaks calmly and I'm relieved that this will actually be a conversation and not a battle.

"You can. Always. I knew you'd feel responsible for this thing with my parents. I didn't want to put that on you. I get that I should've just told you and trusted that we'd work it out, but at the time, it felt like the right thing to do."

"I know why you did it. I would've freaked out. I just need to know that we're going to be able to talk about stuff. That you're not going to pull this protective crap on me every time something upsetting happens."

She takes my hand, another surprising gesture, and looks at me so intensely it makes me a little nervous. "It's more than that though. My dad is gone, Peeta, I have no choice when it comes to seeing him again. I just don't want you to give up on the possibility of a relationship with both of your parents because of us. Your mom, well, maybe that'll never be possible, but your dad...I just want to know that you'll try someday."

"I will, someday."

"Now, where were we last night?" She says with a devilish grin and scoots closer to me on the couch.

"Mmm... I think somewhere around here," I say as I brush her hair back to kiss the soft skin of her neck just under her ear.

She leans into me showing her approval, so I pull her in and kiss her long and deep, one hand tangled in her long braid-kinked hair, the other reaching down around her hip to bring her closer. She shifts her position, moving the leg already on the couch up over me and swinging the other one over so that I'm holding her close, both of her legs across my lap. We kiss slowly, alternating between eyes closed and looking at each other knowingly, intently.

I shift my weight and begin to push her body back gently so that she's lying down under me across the length of the couch. I lower my body alongside her and begin to slowly unbutton the plaid shirt she's wearing. Katniss looks at me, the most beautiful mixed expression of anticipation, shyness and wanting on her face. She bites her lip as I slide the last button free and push the shirt open, revealing the simple white cotton bra she's wearing underneath. Against her pale skin, with tendrils of her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, it's about the loveliest thing I've ever seen.

I trace a few fingers along the soft skin just above the top edge of her bra. Katniss raises her torso enough to help me slip the shirt over her shoulders, allowing me greater access to the bare skin I haven't been able to touch yet.

I kiss her neck, her collar bone, the skin on her chest where my fingers just were. She runs her hands through my hair, up my back, along the side of my face. She starts to pull at the hem of my t-shirt and this time, I don't hesitate to pull it up over my head. I lean back down, anxious to feel her skin against mine. It feels like I'd always imagined, like becoming whole, like coming home.

Everything is running on overdrive. I want everything to be perfect for her, for us. I'm contemplating whether to pick her up and carry her to the bedroom or continue to undress her right here when a booming, sadistic voice cuts in from the hallway.

"You think you can leave me, bitch? You'll never get away from me!" And then the horrifying sound of flesh hitting flesh, hard, followed by a pained whimper.

Katniss and I look at each other startled, with a terrified expression. My hands are already reaching for my shirt. "Call the police," I say, already halfway to the door.

"Peeta, wait, that guy's crazy..."

"He hit her, she's not safe."

I rush out the door before I or Katniss has the chance to think anymore about it. When I get into the hallway I see Cato dragging his wife down the hall as if she were a piece of driftwood. I hear her sobbing uncontrollably and I'm filled with a rage I've never felt before.

I run at a full sprint, but still don't reach them before Cato gets her trapped securely behind their apartment door. All restraint goes out the window as I begin to pound my fists against the door furiously.

"Cato, open the door!"

"You hear that, bitch? It's your fault the whole building knows our business. I don't need this shit, Glim. You're gonna pay."

Now I'm panicking. "Come on man, open the door. The police are on their way. You don't have to do this. Just let your wife come out and take some time to calm down."

"Police? Is that what you want you selfish slut? To see me go to jail so you can be free to screw whoever you want? Well, guess what? There's no way in hell I'm ever gonna let that happen."

"No, Cato, please no!"

My heart stops and the whole world goes quiet when I hear the gunshot. The few seconds it takes me to register what's happening are the longest of my life.

I can't hear the girl's whimpering anymore, only the sounds of a man breaking down. I start putting my shoulder backed by all of my body weight into breaking down the door.

"Cato, open the door, let me get your wife some help."

With no warning the door swings open and he crashes into me. I fall backwards and hit the ground hard. It takes me a moment to notice he's holding one hunting rifle and has a second slung across his body.

He looks at me with a cold detached look I've never seen on the face of a human being. It's like he's not really seeing me, like he's not really seeing anything. He raises the gun, holding my gaze, and fires.

I know I'm hurt, but I don't feel any pain. I stay on the ground, eyes closed and hope Cato thinks I'm dead. When his heavy boots walk past me and are seemingly around the corner, I crawl into his apartment and try to figure out where I'm hit. It's my thigh and as the blood starts to pour out, my limbs start to shake and I start to feel my body going into some kind of preservation mode.

I check Glimmer and it's clear she's not breathing. Her wound is horrifying, right through the chest. The blood, the sight of it...I can't process that this is what a person can look like when half of them is inside out. She's gone and if I can't help her, I have to get the hell out of this apartment before Cato comes back.

I don't think I'll make it back to our place, not with the blood I'm losing and the pain that's starting to seep through the shock. I grab a blanket off the couch and drag myself the short way to the laundry room.

When I get inside I wedge myself between the wall and the dryer. I hear more gunshots and every part of me wants to run to Katniss. How could I live with myself if he hurts her? I try to rally myself to move, to make sure she's safe, but the dizziness gets too intense and I can feel my grip on consciousness slipping.

I pull the blanket around my leg as tightly as I can. I can't be sure how much blood I'm losing. The bullet must have missed an artery, otherwise I'd be dead by now. I haven't heard Katniss' among the screams ringing out on the floor above. I can't imagine what horrific things are happening up there. I could have stopped him, I should've...

My mind fights to work out a plan. What I should've done then, what I need to do now, but everything's getting fuzzy. I can feel the pain winning, feel myself welcoming unconsciousness to stop it. I'm holding onto an image of Katniss, to her voice, to her touch, to her sweetest moments.

I'm letting go, easing into to a painless place when I hear it. Hear her. "Peeta! Peeta! Shh shh...don't move. It's okay. You're going to be okay. Stay with me..."

I'm fighting, fighting to stay with her. "Always."


	20. Chapter 20

A/N - Here's the next chapter:) Thanks to those of you who posted such encouraging, positive reviews about this extra bit of action I've thrown in. It is a Hunger Games fanfic after all, am I right? Anywho, you're all so lovely and it makes writing really fun, so once again (for the umpteenth time) THANKS!

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 20<p>

KPOV

I can't believe our shitty luck. I'm beginning to wonder if I'm destined to be a virgin forever. I mean, I'm old to still be one as it is, but now it's as if the universe is purposefully defending it, like outside forces are at work to uphold my virginity.

I push my frustration aside, trying to unpack the last few minutes. I'm not feeling great about Peeta running off after that psychopath. I can appreciate his instinct to protect the weak and vulnerable – I've spent half my life doing that myself – but this guy just doesn't seem like someone you want to mess around with.

"Hello? Yes, I'd like to report an incident of domestic abuse. The family residence building on campus. It sounds like this guy Cato, I don't know his last name, I think he's hurting his wife. My, um, fiance went to see what's going on. Yeah, I know, I told him not to. Okay, thank you."

Like I could have stopped him 911 Operator, but thanks for the horribly late advice.

I put my clothes back on and proceed to pace the floor, stressing out about what to do next. Do I follow him? Do I go to meet the police at the door? I've got a nervous, awful feeling in the pit of my stomach and I don't know what to do with all my worried energy. I feel helpless and there are few feelings I hate more than helplessness.

When I hear the gunshot, everything unravels. Panic sets in and my heart stops, then speeds up to a wild, uncontrollable pace. My mind, that I'm now losing, narrows to a single, overwhelming thought: Peeta.

I'm frozen in place, paralyzed with fear, worry and indecision. The second shot snaps me back and sends me into action. I have to get to him, have to lay eyes on him and know that he's okay. I tear off down the hall, towards Cato's apartment without thinking. A few neighbours peak their heads out see what's going on.

"Stay inside! The police are on their way," I yell on my way by. I tear around the corner and at least hav enough presence of mind to recognize the crazed man carrying two shotguns barreling down the hallway towards me. I turn on my heel in an instant and head in the other direction, determined to find another way around to get to Peeta.

As I run, I hear a couple more shots and then the screaming and crying begins. Why didn't they stay inside their apartments?! It seems Cato has decided to make the whole building pay for whatever it is that's gone wrong in his life. I know I should probably take more responsibility for making sure people stay inside and are safe, but all I can think about is getting to Peeta.

I won't allow myself to consider that it might be too late. I'm barely allowing myself to believe the situation as it is. It's all so terrifying and yet somehow my feet keep moving and my mind stays sharp. I'm running on instinct and adrenaline, determined not to let the insanity of it get to me.

I'm rounding corners more carefully now, trying to stay as quiet as possible so that I can get to Cato's apartment undetected. It helps that he doesn't seem concerned about the noise he's making or the chaos he's creating; it's making it easier for me to keep track of the general area of the building he's in. Still, with the screams and cries of the other tenants there's a lot going on, a lot that's triggering a kind of nervous panic in me that I'm doing everything I can to suppress.

I try to centre myself and think about being in the woods and what it takes to track an animal. The care in every footstep, the heightened senses, the awareness required. My breathing becomes less shallow, my heart slows and I'm focused again. Focused on finding Peeta and on getting us the hell out of here.

When I see the blood pooled in the hallway, my legs buckle beneath me and my breath refuses to continue. A thousand images and fears flood my mind at once and I don't know how to process any of them.

I essentially crawl to their apartment door, left open a crack, and peak inside. I see Glimmer, unmoving. I've never seen anything like it. Her unnatural stillness and the position of her body tell me she's beyond reach. I watch for any movement and can see that she's not breathing.

"Peeta! Peeta!" I whisper yell into the silent space. Nothing. I steel myself to do a quick check around the apartment in case he's hidden himself inside. Nothing. I check Glimmer and confirm she's gone. I feel a sadness for this girl - this poor, lost girl - that's instant and deep. Murdered by someone she loved and trusted. It's beyond comprehension.

I return to the door where I started, making sure Cato hasn't returned before stepping out into the hallway again. Then I see the trail of blood leading off towards...the laundry room.

I run as quickly and quietly as I can. When I see Peeta, lay eyes on him, I'm flooded with a sense of relief I've never known. It's quickly dashed when I see his condition. He's pretty much lost consciousness and blood is seeping from behind a blanket tied to his leg that I don't recognize. The realization he's been shot feels me with a heavy, terrifying dread.

First things first, I dettach one of the smaller washing machines from the wall and throw all of the weight I can behind pushing it a few feet to barricade the door. Then I return to him, get down on the floor and squish myself in beside him in his hiding spot.

"Peeta! Peeta!" He rouses a bit and I can see he's trying to pull himself out of unconsciousness to reach my voice.

"Shh shh...don't move. It's okay. You're going to be okay." Is it going to be okay? There's so much blood and the colour of his skin is so pale and a kind of blueish colour and how am I going to get him out of here?

"Stay with me..." I say, it's all I can think of.

"Always," he replies, his voice is scratchy and far away. Tears well up in my eyes as I try to reassess the situation. I have to do something. Peeta needs me to do something and I can't let him go, I won't let him go.

"I have to look at your leg, okay? Just hold still." I peel back the blanket and draw in a deep, steadying breath. I've never seen a gunshot wound on a person before. An animal, sure, but I'm out of my league trying to treat a wound like this. I hunt, I don't heal.

I look up to find Peeta, suddenly lucid staring at me intently. "It's bad, isn't it?"

"You'll be fine," I say, avoiding his question. "I need to go get my cell phone, or get outside to the police. We need to get you some help before it gets worse though."

"Katniss, no, you can't go out there. You were right, he's totally lost it. His wife...she's...and then he..." He's winded from the effort of trying to protest.

"I know, Peeta, I know, but the building's on lockdown, I think the cops are treating it like a hostage situation. I don't know how long it'll be before they get in here to help and we can't wait that long."

Panic takes over his features and he starts to try and move. He may even be trying to get up. "Peeta, what are you doing?"

"I'm coming with you."

"No, Peeta, stop. Okay, okay. I'm not going, I'm not going anywhere." But I have to, I have to get him help.

He relaxes again and I snuggle in next to him, consumed with how I'm going to get out of here without Peeta hurting himself.

"Katniss?"

Hmm?"

"I love you. I've loved you since, well, it feels like I've always loved you. There are so many things I wish I'd done differently. That night with the bread and all those years of just...I never knew what to say to you, so I just, I..."

"Peeta, you don't have to-"

"Yes, Katniss, I do. I want you to know. I just wanted to make things better for you. It's all I ever wanted. It's all I want now. I have some paintings...I never showed them to you, but, they say the things I never did. They're in that big trunk of mine. When this is over, find them, okay?"

"You can show them to me yourself, Peeta. You're not going anywhere." My lips find his lips and it's a kiss born of desperation and a failure to find the words he needs to hear. I have no idea what to say and even less of a clue of what to do.

Before I think it through or reason it out, the words have left my lips, "Peeta, I love you, too. You know that, right?"

He chuckles lightly, which takes me by surprise given the circumstances, "Yeah, I didn't know if you did though."

I rest my head back against his and we enjoy a silent, reflective moment before we return to the nightmare that is our present reality.

"I know it's awful for you to think about, but I have to try and get you some help. I can't sit here and watch you die."

"What happened to 'you'll be fine'?"

"Peeta-"

"I know it's bad, Katniss, I'm not that naive. But, the risk, it's too much. If you wait this thing out you'll be safe here. The idea of you getting hurt or, or... because you were trying to help me... I can't..."

His voice is a mixture of panic, anger and pain and I can see that the effort needed to talk is taking it's toll. He's fading and I don't know how to convince him of the urgency of his situation. I try compromising. "Okay, just let me go to the apartment next door. I won't go any further. I'll go in, see if I can get a phone and something better to stop the bleeding. Maybe they'll even have some good drugs or something you can take in the meantime." I say the last part with a wink, hoping the levity will lull him into feeling better about the plan.

"Have you even met the two that live in there? They're the furthest thing from recreational drug users you could possibly get."

"So just lost of booze then?"

"I know what you're trying to do and I still really don't want you to do this. Can't we just wait a while longer?"

"I don't think we can, Peeta, you really need some help."

"If I say no you're just going to find some crazy way to do this anyways, right?"

"Right now I'm torn between knocking you out or somehow tying you to one of these machines." I don't even think I'm joking and it makes me wonder what lengths exactly I'd be willing to go to save him and whether he'll actually force me to go them.

"Just next door. And if you're not back in five minutes I'm coming after you."

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Okay, just five minutes."

"And tell them you're my fiancee."

"Why?"

"Because if they don't know you, they probably won't open the door. And I think I know everyone on this floor."

Despite the dire situation, I can't help but roll my eyes. "Of course you do. Always Mr. Popularity, huh Peeta?"

"What can I say?"

I smile then turn to move the washing machine so I can open the door just enough for me to pass through.

I'm about to leave when I hear Peeta say, "Come back to me."

"Always," I answer and give the most reassuring face I can muster before heading out into the hallway, hoping with everything I've got that I didn't just lie to him.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N – A few of you mentioned/asked about the title and the 'Stay with Me' bit I included in the last few chapters in your reviews. I started the story with the general idea of this whole Cato business and how I'd work the line into a scene when Peeta gets injured, and voila, my fanfic was born. I'm glad so many of you are enjoying it! Please keep reviewing :)

Also, I do not own the Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 21<p>

PPOV

It's not quite pain that I'm feeling, I'm not actually feeling a whole lot other than cold and so, so tired. My body is shaking; I can't control it. All I can do is run over everything in my mind over and over again and then hate myself for not being able to do anything about any of it.

Breathing is becoming more and more difficult. The fact that I just let Katniss walk out the door with a murderous psycho on the loose doesn't help. She could be killed. He could hurt her and it would be my fault. How could I let her risk her life for me?

Who am I kidding; there was no stopping her. There's never any stopping her. It may be the thing I love most about her, her strength and bravery. She's not a woman who needs a man to save her. She's not looking to be completed or to be just somebody's wife. Which begs the question, what is she looking for? Why me?

I want to be the partner that makes her life better by being in it. The kind that supports her and is there for her when she succeeds or fails. Is that enough? Am I enough?

I know she cares for me, it's not easy for her to recognize or admit it, but I know that much. I guess it's just hard to believe it's for real, hard to believe it's the forever kind of real. I want to, I want to believe it so badly. Especially if I don't make it…

Instead of continuing to rehash everything that I wish I'd done differently over the last ten years or worry about what I am and what I'm not, I try to focus on the future, the future I'd want to have with Katniss if we make it out of this thing alive.

I would marry her, with the house and the kids and the whole deal. I can see us spending quiet Sunday mornings in the woods, see me teaching our kids to paint and bake, see Katniss putting together beautiful meals for us from all of her hunting and gathering. It would be a quiet, simple life but it's everything I want. It's all I want.

Five minutes have definitely passed. Where the hell is she? I have to get out of here, have to go after her. I try to move, but it's no use, I'm not going anywhere. I'm trapped in this injured body and in my overactive mind. It's the worst kind of hell.

Finally, just shy of my going completely insane from the wait, Katniss slips back behind the laundry room door. Without saying a word, she pushes the washing machine that's keeping the door from opening fully back a little further to widen the opening. She then darts back out into the hallway and comes in again carrying a young girl. I recognize her as Rue, the daughter of the couple two doors down from the laundry room. She sets her down beside me then grabs two bags also left just outside the door and pushes the machine back in place, securing us safely in our little makeshift fortress.

Rue doesn't look good, but I can't see where she's been hurt from where I am. I can see that blood is covering most of her clothes, but can't see the source. Katniss pulls a small pillow out from one of the bags that she places behind her head, followed by a blanket that she gently covers Rue's small frame with. "There, let's get you nice and comfortable. You're okay now, you're safe here with me and Peeta," she says in a soothing, quiet voice. "I just have to check on him and I'll be right back, but we're both right here." Rue lets out a small whimper of acknowledgement, but doesn't say any actual words.

Katniss grabs a belt and a scarf from the bag. She pulls the blanket I'm currently using as a tourniquet away and wraps the belt around my injured leg; tightening it enough to stem the blood flow. Then she uses the scarf to create a sling that she ties to a pipe to elevate the leg.

When she's done with the practical business of slowing the bleeding from my wound, she lowers herself down to my ear and whispers, "She's been shot in the stomach, it's really bad. Her parents…they're already… they're gone. I don't think she's going to make it, Peeta, and I couldn't just leave to, to…alone." The panic and feeling is obvious in Katniss' voice. I want to comfort her, fix it, make everything better, but instead I'm only contributing to the current crisis.

"Of course," I say. "I was going out of my mind when you didn't come back right away. Thank god you're okay. You're okay, right?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." She kisses my cheek then pulls back from my face. We share a look that says everything we need to. Giving this child the last few moments of life she deserves becomes our new priority and I can't think of a nobler one.

Before returning to Rue's side though, Katniss covers me in a throw blanket and coaxes me to sip from a bottle of water. My vision is coming in and out now; sometimes there are spots, sometimes everything get blurry and sometimes I can see with complete clarity. I don't know what it means, but I try not to overthink it.

"I've called the police, they know we're in here. They're working on a way to safely take Cato down without anyone else getting hurt. They don't think it'll be long now," Katniss explains out loud to no one in particular.

My breathing is still shallow, like it needs to be preserved, but I start to talk to Rue anyway while I've got breath enough to reassure her.

"So you finally met my beautiful fiancée, huh Rue? See? She's not as intimidating as you thought. I was really scared to talk to her at first, too, but now look at us – we're getting married soon! Maybe you can be one of Katniss' bridesmaids."

Katniss looks at me with sad eyes. I can only imagine what she's thinking sitting between a girl only a handful of years younger than her sister who's lost everything and is about to lose her life, and me, the guy she's pretending to be engaged to who she's finally starting to care for, also likely fatally injured. She's right; it's a pretty sad situation.

"That's right, Rue, we'd love to have you be a part of our happy day. We'll find you the perfect dress."

"And you can help us with the music," I add and Katniss looks at me curiously. I guess I've never talked that much about Rue to her, but I do know she loves music and is learning to play several instruments along with her singing. Her parents decided to go back to school so they could give her a better life, one that included all the music lessons and instruments she could ever want. The awfulness of what's happening washes over me and I can feel a single tear escape my eye. What kind of a world is it when a sweet, loving family like Rue's gets wiped out so easily by one severely broken, disturbed man? I have to live through this and prove to Katniss that there's still goodness left in this world. I can't leave her to deal with this shit on her own.

She reaches out and wipes the tear from my face, cupping her hand to my cheek. "It's okay," she mouths and I internally marvel once again at her strength.

She adjusts the way she's sitting so that her body is still touching mine but she can also have Rue's head resting in her lap. She begins to stroke her hair lovingly while she sings softly to her.

I haven't really heard Katniss sing since we were kids. Every once in a while, when she thought no one else was around, she would sing to herself walking home from school. It's always been one of the most beautiful sounds to me. Her low, soulful voice turning ordinary words into heartfelt melodies. I close my eyes to take it in, thinking that if this were the last thing I heard it would be okay.

Rue starts to cough. It's a sputtering, wet cough and I know without looking that it's blood that's causing the unsettling sound. My suspicions are confirmed when I hear Katniss' voice waiver as she sings. I can tell she's trying desperately not to give into her fear and fall apart.

"You have to get out of here," Rue chokes out, "Have that perfect wedding just like you told me, Peeta. And Katniss…thank you…" And that's it. She forces the words out, lets out a final gasp and is gone.

Katniss lets go of whatever composure she was holding onto. She begins to sob, deep, sorrowful sobs that reverberate throughout the small space and there's nothing I can do but witness her intense and instant grief.

Fifteen or so minutes later, she's sitting in front of me, her knees tucked up under her chin, her hands raking through her hair like they're holding her head together. Her sobbing has given way to a quiet, steady stream of tears. She still hasn't said anything, nor have I.

Reality settles around us like a heavy fog that we can't navigate our way out of. I want to say the right thing, something that will reach her, but I know that if help doesn't get here soon I'll be the next person who leaves her. Helplessness becomes the prevalent feeling again. It's not about not being able to protect her physically anymore, now I'm horrified by what I'm leaving her to deal with emotionally. My heart is shattering faster than my mind is and the pain of it is taking my breath away in a way my injuries never could.

I need to make things right, make this time with her count. Like her bringing Rue here to die with us with some measure of comfort, she needs to feel like she's given that to me too. I want her to feel like her coming to find me to be here with me was worth all that she risked. I need to finish what I started to say before she left to get help.

"Katniss," I begin, "thank you."

"For what?" She asks, wiping the tears from her face.

"For these past few months. You have no idea… They've meant everything to me. You need to know that."

"Peeta—"

"Can you, can you come over here?" She doesn't hesitate to tuck herself in beside me, resting her head on my chest. I take her hand and place in over my heart. Holding it there, I continue, "I feel like I've been looking out for you my whole life. For so long I've felt like that was my job, you know? Like I was put on this earth to protect you."

"What are you—"

I keep going, cutting off her question, "I don't feel that way anymore, you know, I mean here you are trying to protect me."

"Because that's what you and I do. Protect each other," she states simply. And I know as soon as I hear it that it's true, that it's what's real.

"Will you sing to me?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper now.

In answer she begins to softly sing one of my favourite old songs, one my dad would play in the bakery when I was little.

_Should I try to hide_

_The way I feel inside_

_My heart _

_For you_

_Would you say that you_

_Would try to love me too_

_In your mind_

_Could you ever be_

_Really close to me_

_I can tell the way you smile_

_If I feel that I could be certain then_

_I would say the things I want to say tonight_

_But till I can see_

_That you'd really care for me_

_I will dream_

_That someday you'll be _

_Really close to me_

_I can tell the way you smile_

_If I feel that I could be certain then_

_I would say the things I want to say tonight_

_But till I can see_

_That you'd really care for me_

_I'll keep trying to hide the way I feel inside_

I concentrate on the sound of her voice and begin to let go, feeling my body relax for the first time since being shot.

Everything becomes peaceful, so much so that it's jarring when I hear the door being banged repeatedly into the washing machine that's blocking it.

"Anyone in here? We've got medics standing by." A deep voice bellows.

"Yes, yes we're in here!" Katniss yells and I can hear her scrambling to her feet beside me. I don't have the energy to open my eyes; can only hear the sounds of activity around me.

Before everything goes black there's a weightlessness, like my body's being lifted and I hear Katniss' voice in my ear saying, "We did it, Peeta, we made it. This will all be over soon."

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><p>AN – The song is _The Way I Feel Inside_ by The Zombies :)


	22. Chapter 22

A/N – This one took a little longer. I think because I'm getting close to the end I'm having trouble wrapping up this lovely little story of mine…guess I'm not quite ready yet ;) In other news, I tried to make a valiant effort to message all of you wonderful reviewers, but didn't get very far before I lost track of where I was and bailed on the whole venture. So, to those I didn't get to, please know I'm super thankful for your support and sorry to be the deadbeat replier that I am ;)

I do not own The Hunger Games or any of its characters.

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><p>Chapter 22<p>

KPOV

The flickering of the fluorescent lights above my head is slowly driving me insane. There's no comfort in the incessant buzzing sound they create, or in the shitty vending machine coffee I'm drinking or in the gross hospital smell now clinging to my clothes. This is not a place of comfort.

I've been sitting in the hospital waiting room for hours, so many in fact that it's nearly morning. I've pissed off the staff to the point where I'm rarely getting updates anymore. I'm over-caffeinated, anxious and going out of my mind. They said Peeta's going to be okay, that much I know, but they aren't sure whether or not they'll be able to save his leg. Something about blood vessels and tissue possibly being damaged beyond repair. Apparently if Cato had been any closer to Peeta when he shot him, he would have likely died from blood loss and if not, the loss of his leg would be a definite.

"Please, just let me see him! Please!" I try again with the nurses at the desk in vain.

"Miss Everdeen, please, you know we can't let you in there. I don't want to have to have you removed."

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I'm about to start throwing punches when I see a familiar, concerned face looking back at me. We don't say anything to one another. Instead, I fall against Peeta's father's chest and he holds me until I'm the one to pull away first.

We haven't spoken to each other in years, but he's the closest I can feel to Peeta right now and I need to be near him, I need the connection.

"How is he, what's going on?" He asks finally.

"He…he's okay," I stutter. "It's just his leg…they don't…he might." I can feel tears streaming down my face, but I don't try to stop them.

"Here dear, sit down," he says soothingly, guiding me to a nearby row of chairs. "I'm just going to talk to the nurse and I'll be right back."

I reach out for him, too overwhelmed to speak. He squeezes my hand reassuringly before turning to walk towards the nurses' station. I feel a wave of guilt wash over me as I watch him, fear and anxiety all over his face. How could I have let this happen? Peeta wouldn't have even been living in that damn building if it weren't for me. Now I have to sit here and keep telling all of my lies to a man who thought his son might die today. It's more than guilt. It's shame.

"He's still in surgery. At least that's what they're telling me," he says as he sits down beside me.

"You must be exhausted, it's the middle of the night," I manage to say.

"I started driving as soon as I heard the news, but it took me a while to get in here once I got to town. It's crazy out there. Between the crowds and the media and the police…" he says and he runs his hands through his hair, no doubt remembering the aggravation. "But never mind me, it must have been terrifying in there. Are you okay?" he asks and pats my knee gently. A memory flashes through my mind of my own father, comforting me after a nightmare or fall. I feel better having a dad around, even if he's not mine.

"Yeah, I'm okay. I just…it's Peeta, you know?" I'm worried about losing it again talking about him, so I go for the distraction. "Is your wife...?"

"No, she uh…Peeta doesn't know yet, but we're…we separated."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"It's okay, really, it's for the best."

We sit in silence for a while before he asks, "Do you want to talk about it? What you went through in there? I mean, I can't even imagine…"

His question brings on a flood of images that I'm not ready to deal with. "Thanks, but really, I'm okay."

"It's so upsetting, the damage the actions of one man can cause."

I finally take the time to really take in my surroundings and realize there are families and loved ones of the other victims from our building here. Most have gathered together, finding solace in one another as they await any news of the wounded.

"It's disgusting," is all I can say, looking around me and thinking of Rue and her parents.

"You know, I was surprised when Peeta told us the news about you two. I mean, he'd been talking to me about you for years, but there'd never been anything reciprocal to speak of."

Exactly what I'd been dreading. I don't want to lie to him. Not now. Worse, he takes my silence to mean I've been offended.

"I don't mean to suggest…I couldn't be happier about it, believe me, I was just surprised is all," he spits out quickly

I go with the truth. "I love him," I say quietly, but slightly defensively.

"That's all I need to know," he says and smiles at me warmly. I know the smile, it's Peeta's, and I'm overwhelmed with how much I miss him and need to see him.

"Mr. Mellark?" A doctor calls out and we're both on our feet and over to him within seconds.

"It was touch and go there for awhile. He lost a lot of blood and the, uh, hunting rifle caused a lot of damage to his leg. We were able to save it, but it's unclear right now whether the injury will be permanent or not."

"Meaning?" I ask, relieved but still in need of answers.

"Meaning he may need a cane or walk with a limp or never fully regain the use of his leg again. We just don't know."

"Thank you, Doctor, when can we see him?" Mr. Mellark asks.

"He's in the recovery room, his vitals are good, so it shouldn't be more than another hour or so now."

I'm finally able to take in a full breath, something I don't think I've done in the last 12 or so hours and despite myself, I encircle my arms around Peeta's dad once again and wonder how I'm going to make it another sixty minutes. He's okay. This is the mantra I repeat over and over in my head to pass the time. Peeta's going to be okay.

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><p>"Hey," I say softly, trying not to freak out about the terrifying collection of tubes and machines and medical paraphernalia surrounding him.<p>

Peeta's face brightens and I start to cry. I hate crying and I've cried so much already tonight. This time is different though. It's fueled by relief and happiness and the look on his face.

"Hey," he answers, but it comes out as a croaky whisper.

I rush to his side, unsure of where I can touch him, but I want so badly to touch him. I find his hand under the blanket and squeeze gently, covering it with both of my hands. "I was so worried and they wouldn't let me see you and I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

"Shh, Katniss, it's okay, I'm okay. You have nothing to be sorry about. I'm okay. You're safe. That's all that matters. It's over."

"You're the one in the hospital bed. I'm supposed to be taking care of you."

"Yeah, but we take care of each other, remember?"

I sniffle and laugh a little, "Yeah, I remember. So, how are you feeling, really?"

"I think they must have me on some pretty great pain meds. Things are fuzzy, but I'm not really feeling any pain."

"That's good," I say, running my fingers through his hair.

He hums a bit as I continue to trail my fingers along the side of his face, tracing his ear. I don't think he knows he's doing it, which makes it all the more adorable. "They told me about my leg. That's pretty shitty news."

I chuckle at the way he understates the obvious. "Yeah, it is pretty shitty. We'll get through it though."

"You don't mind, I mean, I might always be…"

"I don't care, Peeta, that would never matter to me. You're still you."

His face darkens before he asks, "What, um, happened to him?"

"He was killed…by the police. Suicide by cop I think they call it."

"And how many…"

"Seven…another four or five injured."

We let the numbers hang in the air between us. There really are no words. Now that we know Peeta's condition isn't critical and that we're both safe, there's nothing left to do but confront what we've been through. I have no idea how to do that though. Where do we even start?

"Knock, knock," Mr. Mellark says from the door, breaking our sad silence.

"Dad!" Peeta says, the wide grin returning to his face.

"It's really great to see you, son," he says, tears welling up in his eyes.

I decide to give the two some time and bend to kiss Peeta's forehead before leaving, "I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

"Don't be long,"

"Not a chance."

It's morning now and Morgantown's just starting to wake up to the day after its most horrifying tragedy.

I feel like shit and would love a shower, but I know it's not about me right now. I'll grab a coffee, splash some water on my face and suck it up.

I want to go back to the apartment and get Peeta some things to make him more comfortable, but the thought of it overwhelms me. It's likely the place is overrun with police and reporters anyway. The more I can keep my face out of the news coverage of this whole thing the better. I don't want it to follow us around beyond what's necessary.

Instead, I make the rounds at nearby shops and gather what I can. A sketchbook and some coloured pencils, some bathroom essentials, some salty snacks, his favourite cookies, some lounge pants and socks and a book I think he'd like. It's more money than I've spent at one time in, well, never, but I'm not thinking about the rent just yet.

I return to find Mr. Mellark staring wistfully out the window while Peeta sleeps soundly in his hospital bed a few feet away.

"He seems to be having a hard time staying awake with those pain meds. I guess that's probably a good thing for now though."

"Yeah, you're probably right," is what I say out loud, but selfishly I want to wake Peeta up and spend real, conscious time with him.

"You should get some sleep, Katniss, you're probably wiped."

"Yeah, but you and I both know I'm not going anywhere," I grin and he nods in understanding.

"Well, I better go find myself a hotel room for the next little while. And then I was thinking maybe I'd go back and pick up your Mom and sister. They'd probably want to be here."

"Really? Wow, thank you, it would be really great to have them here."

"Just let Peeta know I'll be back a little later, okay?"

"Yeah, of course. And thank you, for everything." We smile at each other, me shyly, him warmly. And then he's off.

I sit and watch Peeta sleep, relief washing over me in wave after wave. Tears start streaming down my face again without my consent as the reality of it all crashes into me.

"Hey, hey, none of that."

"Peeta," I say, startled, "I'm sorry, did I wake you?"

"Nah, I think the latest dose of whatever it is they're giving me just wore off. Now, tell me why you're crying, beautiful."

I can't help but scoff, "Still full of shit I see…I'm a mess, Peeta."

"Not to me. Come on, talk to me."

"It's just a lot, and I think, I think I'm just starting to feel how real it all was."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he says, patting the bed. "But what I really need you to do right now is sit here with me and let me take that braid out of your hair while you bitch at me for pulling too hard and for just a little while, we're going to pretend that we're back to just being us, okay?"

"Okay," I say as I snuggle in next to him. "For a little while."


	23. Chapter 23

A/N - Finally! Here's the last chapter. I'm uploading the Epilogue at the same time. Thank you for your patience, support and positive reviews! It's been a slice! oxo

Chapter 23

PPOV

I've been in the hospital a total of 16 days now. The first few went by mercifully fast; I was so sedated that I slept most of the days away. By day 5 or 6 though, the time got long and volleyed between extremely painful and unbearably boring. I stopped being able to sleep nights, replaying all that had happened over and over again in my mind whether conscious or not. Katniss stays the night sometimes, when the nurses willing to look the other way are working the night shift. Those are the nights I sleep best. Somehow her breath in my ear and hand on my chest makes all the difference.

Doctors say it'll take 6 months for my leg to heal, at best, and that I should get used to using a cane once I'm done with my crutches. Real physiotherapy will start once the wound has healed enough to move my leg. I can do small things now, just to keep the muscles firing, but I've had to keep it from moving at all for the most part.

Today they're letting me go home, or at least leave the hospital. Understandably, no one really wanted to go back to the building after the shooting, so a handful of local hotels and apartment buildings donated space to all us residents until more permanent alternatives can be sorted out. My dad helped Katniss move as much of our stuff as could fit into our temporary apartment and her mom and sister helped make it cozy for her. It's been reassuring to know she's had family around while I've been in here.

Katniss knocks on the door, still a little shyly after all this time. The blush in her cheeks at seeing my bare chest makes me chuckle.

"Mornin'," she says, "Are you, uh, gonna put a shirt on before we leave?" It's hard to tell if she's joking or actually worried.

"Yeah, but I think it'll still be awhile before I get to go. There are some final checks and my doctor won't be in to sign the discharge papers for another hour or two.

Her face scrunches up before she realizes I'm watching her and she relaxes it again. "Okay, I, uh, just need to make a quick call."

"Need to delay the surprise party, huh?"

Her eyes get wide, then she smiles. "How did you know?" She's still smiling as she walks towards me.

"Well, there are times when you're the hardest person ever to read. And then there are times when you're really just the worst at hiding things," I tell her while reaching up to bring her face closer to mine.

She exaggerates an offended expression, "I might just call to cancel your party altogether for that."

"Fine by me. I want you all to myself." I pull her in for a deep kiss and she invites the intensity, telling me all is forgiven. She places a hand gently on my chest before pulling back and I make a mental note to be shirtless more often. The feel of her skin on mine tops just about anything I've ever felt. "Good morning," I answer her greeting from earlier.

She smiles and pulls out her cell phone. She texts rather than calls Prim, I assume. Then she drags a chair up beside my hospital bed.

"It's been pretty great having her here, huh?"

"Prim? Yeah, it's been really nice to spend so much time with her. You don't realize how much you miss people until you see them again sometimes." She nudges me and I know that's her saying she misses me too. She's not so hard to read these days, my girl.

"They're going back the day after tomorrow though…now that you're coming home."

I nod. Everything was so heightened the day of the shooting. Our emotions came pouring out of us so easily, or I should say out of Katniss; I've always kind of worn my heart on my sleeve. It's been different between us since then, we're closer for sure, but the days of professions of love for each other ended after that first day out of surgery. She's back to her emotionally guarded self and I can't help but wonder what our lives will be like when it's just us living together again.

The nurses start to come in one by one to say goodbye. Some of them take my vitals for the last time and record the final numbers on my chart. There are so many people to see and thank and exchange well wishes with that I'm surprised when my doctor arrives to give me final clearance to go home. He talks me through my prescriptions and the physiotherapy plan then pats me warmly on the back before carrying on with his rounds.

After gathering my things, I'm wheeled downstairs where my dad is waiting to drive us to our temporary apartment.

As I suspected, when I hobble through the door on my crutches I'm greeted with a loud, "Surprise!" as our families and friends welcome me home. Katniss' mom and Prim are proudly holding a big cake that my dad no doubt had a hand in.

Katniss kisses my cheek and stands aside as a sea of hugs, kisses and handshakes swallows me up.

I end up flanked by Katniss and Prim after my dad sets me up to sit in one chair and keep my leg up on another. Katniss clearly doesn't trust what her sister might end up blurting out and Prim gets that much more pleasure out of shocking her with her words and questions because of it.

The conversation starts off being very polite and kind, but it's not long before Prim gets back to her old cheeky self.

"So I guess this whole deal," she gestures up and down my leg, "will put a damper on things, you know, in there," she finishes, nodding in the direction of our new bedroom.

Katniss is appalled and I chuckle. "Prim!"

"What, we'll be family soon, I can't point out the obvious?"

"Ugh, Prim, come on. You two are not seriously gonna talk about that stuff together."

"I'm just saying what he's thinking," she says and smiles at me. I smile back and add a wink, realizing that I've definitely missed Prim's sass.

It's not long before Haymitch makes his way through the crowd to my side. "You're supposed to be the best of us, Peet, what the hell?"

I chuckle and shrug my shoulders, "What can I say? I like to keep things interesting."

Turning to Katniss he teases, "Looks like you've got your work cut out for you the next little while, sweetheart. Time to practice all those wifely duties." He winks at her and she subtly gives him the finger from beneath her empty cake plate.

Between Prim and now Haymitch, Katniss is fuming and I'm enjoying the familiarity of it all. It's been heavy in the hospital, all that's happened, it feels good to be here with the people I like best, joking like we would have before this whole mess.

"I'm surprised to see you here, Haymitch," Katniss answers, "Don't you, like, hate people?"

"Yeah, but the drinks are free and who doesn't like this one? The kid's like a professional human being, he puts us all to shame" he says nodding in my direction.

"Cheers, man," I say clinking my glass with his.

Surprisingly, even Gale makes an appearance. He spends most of his time with Katniss' mom and Prim, but does come over to say hi at one point. I can tell things are still strained between him and Katniss, but they seem better. I'm still not sure how I feel about Gale or their relationship, but I know I have to keep trying for Katniss' sake. He's family to her and that's really all I need to know.

After a couple of hours of cake and chatting I'm exhausted. Katniss seems to intuit this almost as quickly as I'm feeling it and starts to encourage people to be on their merry way.

Her mother promises to be back in the morning to help out and even though Katniss tells her repeatedly she doesn't have to, she says she'll be over by 10am. It's not lost on me that my dad places a hand on Lauryl's lower back as he follows her out the door. I can't help but smile to myself; it's been a long time since I've seen that spark in his tired eyes. I decide not to mention anything to Katniss, she's not so good with romantic subplots. Prim and I exchange a glance over it though; she knows what's up.

It's so very quiet now that we're alone again. Katniss is busying herself with cleaning up the paper plates and glasses that her mother missed. We chat idly while she's doing it. She fills me in on all the gossipy bits that can't be said while everyone else is around. I feel guilty that she's doing everything herself around the apartment, but know it'll be awhile before I'll be able to manage any kind of contribution.

Once it seems like most of the tidying is done, I lift myself onto the couch and pat the seat next to me with a grin. I'm extremely grateful for the upper body strength a lifetime in the bakery has given me. I don't even want to think about what it would be like to have to have Katniss try to haul me around on her own.

She smiles shyly and sits down next to me. "What now?" she asks. I don't answer at first. Instead I spend a few minutes tucking strands of her hair behind her ears and thinking about everything that's happened over the last 8 months.

"Now," I begin, "we spend some time being…us."

She smiles again and says, "You know, when I was packing up our stuff to move it over here…I found those paintings…the ones of me. Of us."

I turn a little red. I'd totally forgotten that I'd told her about those. There were many paintings in there of just Katniss, but also ones of us, older, with a boy and a girl bearing our features.

"They're really beautiful, Peeta, thank you. To be honest, I'm not really sure how I feel about…all that. But, it can be nice to think about sometimes."

I don't say anything in response. I tilt her chin up towards me and kiss her softly at first, then harder, more deeply. She gives herself back fully and all at once I remember what I was fighting for, what she fought for that day in our old building.

"I know we can't, that with your leg right now we can't, but I'm ready," she whispers. "When it's time, I'm ready and I'm so happy it will be with you."

"It's always only ever been you," I answer and continue kissing her lips, her cheeks, her neck. My mind drifts to just how long it will take for me to be healed enough to be with her in the way I want to be. A week, a month…it could be awhile. "Maybe we could get creative between now and then," I grin against her lips and she sighs, seemingly game for whatever I mean.

She snuggles up against me, half of her body on mine. It's one of those moments where you want time to stop, for the earth to slow down, for seconds to stretch into days.

"For two kids who haven't had much going in our favour, we're alright, you know?" I say, my leg, the shooting, my mother, all melting away.

"Yeah, I know," Katniss says with a sigh against my neck. "Now, how long before I get me some cheese buns. I'm totally in withdrawal over here."

We both laugh and I squeeze her even more tightly to my side. "Right now I don't want to move. I just want to be right here, with you."

She looks up at me and replies simply, "Always."


	24. Epilogue

Epilogue

KPOV

"Coming!" I yell running towards the door. I open it to find a rosy cheeked, grinning Peeta holding up a bag of what I can only assume are cheese buns. He's winded, like he just came up the stairs to the third floor as fast as he could manage with his cane.

"Excited?" I ask with a chuckle.

"Hell yes, it's moving day!"

"You're only moving one floor."

"Yeah, but I've lived one whole floor away from you for way too long."

We've both been living in the building his dad bought when he moved to Morgantown six months ago. He opened a bakery on the main floor and rented me the third floor apartment at a ridiculously low rate. Peeta's been living with him on the second floor.

When Peeta's dad let us know that he was finalizing the divorce and moving here, we were left with a lot of decisions. With such affordable living, we could actually pay our tuition without the ruse. We decided to come clean about our engagement, take a few steps back, and do things right this time, on our terms.

It was weird at first. Going from living together as an engaged couple back to dating from separate apartments took some adjusting, but still somehow felt right. I was overwhelmed by my feelings, by what happened, by the weight of the lies we had told. I needed perspective and time and I didn't know how to do that while having to keep up appearances. I love Peeta, I know that much, but it's a scary and foreign thing to me and I needed to be able to love him in my own way and in my own time.

Peeta being Peeta was okay with that. I think because it gave him more of an opportunity to be the mushy, cutesy boyfriend he'd always wanted to be. That part's also taken some adjustment. I do my best not to let his obvious affection overwhelm me. My feelings still feel so hard to express, but I try. For him. So we've been dating, with the occasional sleepover.

The sleepovers are a fairly new development. Peeta wanted to wait until his leg was healed enough for it to not be an awkward obstacle for us. It still kind of was a bit of an obstacle the first time, but everything was a little awkward in the way I think first times probably always are, so, it was somehow okay.

We were nervous and giggly and desperate to be ever closer. Peeta was gentle and sweet, but had this…hungry look in his eyes. Our hands were everywhere at first, urgent and greedy, but then things got slow and synchronized and time stopped for a while. We held each other afterwards in the way people do, but it still felt like we were somehow different from the rest. Like that moment had only been felt in the way it had by us and no two people could ever feel more for each other. It's a young and naïve thought, I know, but it's nice to feel young and naïve after the shit we've been through.

"I was thinking maybe Tuesday we could stay in and properly celebrate. I don't have class past the morning, so I could cook something fun," Peeta says, moving past me to clear some space for his boxes in the living room.

"Today's only Saturday."

"Yeah, but if you'll be in the woods most of the day tomorrow and I'm teaching that art class on Monday, it won't work 'til then."

These are the times when I know I'm beyond lucky. Peeta would be perfectly happy spending all of our time together, but knows I'd freak right out if that were the case. Space is a necessity in my world and he's always careful to give it to me.

"Tuesday sounds great then," I smile. "So, just how much changing of things are you going to be doing around here while I'm out tomorrow?"

"Just some art in some places, maybe some pictures and a few plants. You haven't exactly made the place homey, Kat."

I can't help but laugh a little at myself as I look around. It's totally true. The space is very functional, but not exactly cozy or stylish, or personalized in any way for that matter.

"Well, you're the artist, have at 'er," I answer, essentially absolving myself of any responsibility for the esthetics of the place.

He grins and pulls me down to the couch with him. "But that's tomorrow's work. Today's…" he says nuzzling behind my ear, "today I have much more important things to do."

"Oh yeah? And what things would those be?"

"I have to make sure you're fed. I have to spend some time convincing you to marry me. I have to get you out of these clothes…"

"Fed, yes. Clothes, up for negotiation. Married? I told you you'd have to wait at least a couple more years for that one."

"Can't blame a guy for trying."

We smile at each other, brilliantly, comfortably, and kiss each other deeply. He's started throwing around words like 'marriage' and 'forever' lately. I think he does it to keep me thinking about the future and to get me used to the idea of what's to come. It pissed me off at first. I was, naturally, resentful of the pressure and the assumption in it. But as like always seems to happen with Peeta, he's kept it up and I've adjusted and now, against my better judgment as a non-girlie girl, I do kind of love hearing it. I don't know how he knows which things to push and which to let go, but somehow he does and it's almost always the right call. Whether I ever want to admit it or not.

I pull back slightly, reluctantly, and say, "What I can blame a guy for, though, is not actually getting all your shit moved in today. It is moving day after all." It's my way of saying I'm excited about him being totally moved in too, even if I don't say it with the same straightforward, heart-melting language he would.

He smiles at me with a look that says he knows exactly what I'm implying and groans. "Just sit here with me for like 5 minutes, just 5, I swear."

A half an hour later Peeta finally pulls away from our quiet snuggling to begin the multiple one-floor treks to get his stuff. I help with a few loads since he shouldn't be doing too much non-cane walking. It's looking promising that besides a slight limp he'll recover enough to not need his cane at all sometime soon. Until that day comes though he's been trying to do everything possible to heal properly.

As he brings in his last few paintings, I decide to pop down to see his dad before he closes up shop for the day. He smiles so widely when he sees me that I have to smile too. These Mellarks are so damn smiley.

"There's my favourite girl," he says brightly.

I gasp and say, "And here I thought that was my mother."

He chuckles in response then says, "Well, my favourite Morgantown girl, how's that?"

"Okay, but that'll only work until the fall, then we'll both be Morgantown girls." My Mom told us that she's decided to move here when Prim starts school. She didn't say specifically that she'll be moving in with Peeta's dad, but, we all know what's going on even if the two of them are still trying to hide it like handsy teenagers.

"I suppose you're right," he says, still with a goofy smile plastered on his face. "Peeta about done getting his stuff up there?"

"Yeah, he's just finishing now. How does a guy even have that much stuff?"

"That I can't help you with." He's silent for a moment then says, "If things keep going so well around here though I may buy myself a little house in September… then you guys'll have more room on the second floor. Even if your sister moves in when she starts school she won't need all that space for just herself."

And there it is, that take-care-of-everyone Mellark charm.

"That'd be great," I say, having come to realize that having people who care for you and want to support you is actually a pretty amazing thing. Not quite the Achilles heel I grew up thinking it was. "Anyway, I just wanted to say hi before you close up."

"You two have a good night. Take something for the morning before you go up if you want."

I do want. Living above a bakery could never lose its charms as far as I'm concerned. I grab a couple almond croissants and two cupcakes for later.

After a couple of sandwiches for dinner, Peeta and I snuggle up on the couch to watch something stupid on TV. I love these quiet, relaxed times. They make me feel like everything that happened that day with Cato is far, far away, almost a fiction. Of course the nights without Peeta when the nightmares come have always crept back to remind me. But not anymore, there will be no more Peeta-less nights.

He must be musing about the same thing because when I look up at him he's already looking back at me.

"I love you," he says simply, spontaneously and I know how much he means it.

I hold his gaze and repeat the words I've now said enough to know they couldn't be more true.

"I love you," I say, "Always."

* * *

><p>AN – A great big thank you to each and every one of you who has read, encouraged and enjoyed this story. It's the first one I've actually finished and I'm feeling quite proud. It's been a lot of fun…please share it with others if you think so too :)


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